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His Big Brother 

A Story of the Struggles and Triumphs 
of a Little Son of Liberty ” 


LEWIS AND MARY THEISS 

A 

ILLUSTRjtTED BY 

KLEBER HALL 



W. A. WILDE COMPANY 

CHICAGO 


BOSTON 



Copyright, igit;. 

By W. a. Wilde Company 
All rights reserved 

His Big Brother 


OCT 14 1915' 


©CI.A411955 


To 

Ernest K. Coulter^ 

founder of the Big Brother Mov entente 
whose life is an inspiration to his 
grown-up as well as to his little friends ^ 
this book is dedicated 






FOREWORD 



LTHOUGH it is undoubtedly true that fiction. 


^ truthfully written, is truer than fact — because 
fiction sets forth the general truths of life, whereas fact 
illustrates life only in certain particular cases — never- 
theless there are some persons for whom a story has an 
added interest if it is the recital of actual occurrences. 
Should any such persons chance to read this story, it 
will interest them to know that the tale of Little Joe, 
though in no sense a biography, is the history of a New 
York street urchin. 

Little Joe is drawn after a real boy. That boy, like 
the youthful hero of this book, ran away from his step- 
father’s canal-boat because he was denied his freedom. 
For many months he eked out a rat-like existence on 
the streets of New York. The picture of Little Joe is 
a reproduction of that lad’s likeness, though no words 
could really describe the pitiable plight or the wretched 
raggedness of that little waif. Like Little Joe, this New 
York ragamuffin sank lower and lower as he battled 
against overwhelming odds, and was saved to decency 
and usefulness only by the helping hand of a prosperous 
business man. Many of the things that happen to Little 


7 


8 


FOEEWOED 


Joe actually happened to the original. Some of the inci- 
dents occurred to other street urchins. So that, though 
“ His Big Brother ” is wholly fictitious, it is nevertheless 
a true story — as true, the authors hope, as any fiction. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 

I. 

A Strike for Liberty .... 

11 

11 . 

The Price of Freedom .... 

30 

III. 

Life on the Streets .... 

52 

IV. 

The Law in the Case .... 

63 

V. 

A Mishap and What Came of It . 

75 

VI. 

Joe’s First Crime 

86 

VII. 

In the Police Drag-Net 

99 

VIII. 

The People fs. Joe Wainright 

103 

IX. 

Joe PTnds a Friend at Court 

II2 

X. 

Mr. Everington and the Voice of Con- 



science 

120 

XI. 

Joe and His Big Brother Everington . 

127 

XII. 

Mr. Everington Meets Joe’s Family . 

143 

XIII. 

Big Brother and Good Samaritan Both 

153 

XIV. 

Hawkins 

i6o 

XV. 

A Descent on the Mattie Ford . 

I/I 

XVI. 

What Happened to Henry . 

179 

XVII. 

A Blue-Eyed School-Teacher 

187 

XVIII. 

Joe Meets His Big Brother’s Wife 

195 

XIX. 

A Bargain 

205 

XX. 

Learning by Observation 

216 

XXL 

Joe and the Gang 

9 

228 


10 


CONTENTS 


XXII. Forgiven 237 

XXIII. The Story of Mr. Everington’s Life 242 
XXIV. Concerning a Yellow Dog . .252 

XXV. Joe Finds a New Boarding Place . 263 

XXVI. Joe Chooses His Vocation . . . 269 

XXVII. A Breathing Spell in the Country . 284 

XXVIII. A Dream Come True .... 299 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


CHAPTEK I 

A STRIKE FOR LIBERTY 

J OE WAUSTRIGHT sat on the roof of the cabin of 
the coal barge Mattie Ford^ rebelliously beating a 
tattoo with his heels against the side of the cabin. The 
coal dust was a quarter of an inch thick, but Joe paid 
no attention to that. He could hardly grow any 
blacker than he was and besides he had lived in the 
thick of coal dust for three months. Even now a train 
load of coal fresh from the mines was pouring down 
long iron chutes into the hold of the Mattie Ford in 
thunderous cascades that insistently demanded atten- 
tion. Yet coal was the last thing Joe was thinking of. 

His attention was at present centred on a game of 
ball that he could see in progress a few hundred feet 
away on the flat Jersey meadow, just beyond the great 
terminal coal-yard. As he watched the game, his heels 
beat faster and faster against the cabin wall. He 
frowned and ran his blackened fingers through his 
curly, brown hair, thereby leaving an extra smudge of 
11 


12 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


black across his broad forehead. At this particular 
moment Joe desired nothing so much in the world as 
to get into that game of ball. 

Yet he made no move to leave his perch. Instead 
he glanced angrily at his stepfather, Charles Hawkins, 
who was sprawled lazily in the warm September sun- 
shine on the opposite edge of the cabin roof. Almost 
ever since Joe’s mother had married this man three 
months previously, Joe had been looking at him 
angrily. And the reason was ever the same. Joe 
wanted his freedom. He wanted to go ashore and 
play with the other boys. J ust now he wanted to join 
in the baseball game. But three months of bitter ex- 
perience had taught him that he yearned in vain. 

Even now he was enjoying unwonted liberty. The 
privilege of being on deck where he could breathe the 
fresh air, feel the warm sunshine, and see the stirring 
sight of the busy life in Hew York harbor was one he 
had rarely enjoyed during his three months aboard the 
Mattie Ford. Within a week after Joe’s mother had 
wedded Hawkins, the coal barge captain had shown a 
growing dislike both to Joe and to Joe’s crippled 
brother Henry — a dislike which he had vented by cag- 
ing them in the tiny cabin. At first he kept them be- 
low decks only when the coal barge was journeying 
through the tossing waters of the Bay, deep-laden with 
her black cargo ; and in explanation he had said that 


A STRIKE FOR LIBERTY 


13 


he feared for their safety should they come on deck. 
But when he saw how amazed and restless the young- 
sters were, like active young animals in a cage, he ex- 
tended his restrictions and kept them in the cabin most 
of the time. 

As Joe looked at his stepfather now, the latter 
glanced furtively back at Joe, and a smile flitted across 
his scarred and reddened countenance. Joe noted the 
look. He knew that the man was enjoying his dis- 
comfiture. In all his eleven years of life Joe had never 
before known such treatment. That gloating smile 
made his bitterness all the more bitter. 

Joe’s mind went back to the days before he had had 
to submit to the will of this hulking tyrant. He 
thought of the happy days in Alabama before his own 
father died, of the neat and comfortable little home, 
bowered in vines, and set in a garden of eternal color, 
where he had passed all the days of his young life be- 
fore his mother sickened as his father had done, and 
had returned for support to this home of her girlhood. 
He thought of the days when, with his brother Henry 
and his sister Helen, he had played under the live-oaks 
and the oleanders, and how he and Helen had brought 
flowers and blossoms and scarlet clusters of holly ber- 
ries and festoons of Spanish moss to their crippled 
brother as he sat playing in the shade. He could al- 
most hear the wind sighing through the piney woods. 


14 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


He could almost smell again the sweet fragrance of 
the myriad woodland blossoms. In his mind’s eye 
arose a picture of the little white cottage with the 
roses clambering over it, where he had lived. 

The only home he knew now was this grimy coal 
barge. The only odors that came to his nostrils these 
days were the tang of the salt harbor water, too often 
tainted with decaying refuse, and, when the wind blew 
right, the sickening smell from the garbage dumps a 
few blocks below the Mattie Ford’s usual berth at the 
foot of Barrow Street in Manhattan. 

And he was held fast to it all. He could not get 
away, even for a little time. Rarely could he come 
on deck. He could not even get out here on the 
Jersey meadow for an hour’s game of ball. He must 
live like a captive squirrel, fretting his life out in his 
narrow prison. Everywhere was happiness but not for 
him. Here was this marvelous city he had heard of 
all his life, which he had looked forward to seeing with 
keenest pleasure — and which he knew only as a bird in 
a cage knows the forest. Like Tantalus he was never 
allowed to grasp the joys with which he was sur- 
rounded. And there were the blows and curses — 
sometimes, alas, for his mother ! At thought of them 
Joe’s eyes gleamed afresh with anger. Yet he could 
see no relief. He was chained to it all like a slave to 
a galley. It must go on and on and on. 


A STRIKE FOR LIBERTY 


15 


The thought was more than Joe could endure. 
Tears came into his wide-set blue eyes. But not for 
the world would he have his companions see them. 
With his grimy hand he dashed the drops away, leav- 
ing an added streak of black on his strong little nose. 
He turned his back on his lounging companion. The 
tattoo of his heels ceased. He dropped to the deck of 
the barge and scurried into the cabin. 

“ I won’t stand it any longer, I won’t, I won’t ! ” he 
exclaimed, beating the air with his fists. Yet even 
under the stress of angry indignation he voiced his 
protest in a low tone. Hard experience had taught 
him what happened to youthful rebels on the coal 
barge Mattie Ford. 

“ What is it now, Joe ? ” inquired his mother, as she 
looked up with a despairing sigh from the low chair in 
which she sat near the stove, paring potatoes for sup- 
per. “What has he done” — the question was inter- 
rupted by a dry hacking cough — “ what has he done 
to you now ? ” And coughing again she moved still 
closer to the fire. 

“ Nothin’,” replied Joe, “ but I want to go out there 
and play ball. I want to go ashore and do something. 
I want to get off this boat.” And now the tears stood 
frankly in his eyes. Joe made no move to wipe them 
away. They were tears of anger, and Joe did not care 
if his folks in the cabin did see them. 


16 


HIS BIG BROTHEB 


“ Poor boy ! ” sighed his mother. “ I am aw- 
fully sorry, Joe. I’ll speak to your father again. 
Maybe ” She did not finish the sentence. In- 

stead she folded her hands and sighed impotently. 

“ It ain’t fair,” went on Joe angrily. “ I didn’t do 
anything to him, but he keeps me locked up like a 
dog.” 

“ Your father says he has to shut you up to keep you 
out of trouble,” pleaded Mrs. Hawkins, in defense of 
the man she had married. 

“ It’s a lie,” retorted Joe. “ And he ain’t my father, 
and I won’t stand it any longer.” 

How the mother’s eyes went moist. She looked at 
Joe pityingly, made as though to speak, then rose and 
hurried into the other part of the little cabin, set off 
by board partitions, which they called by courtesy 
“ the other room.” There she threw herself upon the 
bunk, barely six feet long, which filled one entire side 
of the room. 

Helen, who had been playing with Henry on the 
floor, arose, picked up the pan of potatoes her mother 
had set down, and quietly went on with the work of 
preparing them. She was fourteen years old — two 
years older than Henry and three years older than Joe. 
During the recent months of her mother’s illness she 
had developed rapidly in womanly qualities, as it had 
become necessary more and more to relieve her mother 


A STEIKE FOE LIBEETY 


17 


of the slight labors of the household. To Henry she 
was a little mother, but to Joe she was more like a 
chum, despite the difference in their ages. For Joe, 
almost from his babyhood, had been the defender and 
protector of his crippled brother and in consequence 
had early developed a manly independence that made 
him seem much older than he really was. And though 
he came from a family of the poorer class he had im- 
bibed ideas of chivalry and kindness toward women, 
the weak, and dumb animals, that were uncommon in 
a boy of his age. 

Joe stood by the window, his face dark with anger. 
His anger impelled him to do something, but he could 
not walk up and down the cabin floor, for Henry occu- 
pied all the room. Joe could give vent to his feelings 
only with his hands and arms. From time to time he 
shook his little fists. 

“ It’s too bad, Joe. I am sorry,” said his sister 
gently. She got up and laid her hand on his shoulder. 
Joe looked at her understandingly. The tear-drops in 
his eyes welled and fell. 

“I won’t stand it another day. I’m goin’ to run 
away,” he confided to her. His glance rested on 
Henry. “ Then I suppose MU get it instead,” he re- 
flected aloud, nodding his head toward the cripple. 
For a moment he stood in deep thought. “ I’ll take 
him with me,” he announced. “ That’s what I’ll do.” 


18 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


“ Oh, Joe ! ” said his sister. “ What will become of 
us ? And what will we do without you ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Joe. ‘‘ But he won’t beat 
you; and we’ll get along somehow. I’ll tell you 
what ” 

But before Joe could tell his sister anything further, 
a heavy footfall was heard on the deck. Both children 
jumped. Helen went back to her potato paring. Joe 
slid down on the floor beside his brother. Then the 
door opened and the towering form of Mr. Hawkins 
appeared. He stooped and thrust his head through 
the doorway. “Come out here, and be quick about 
it,” he said, looking at Joe. “ She’s almost full.” 

Joe scrambled out on deck. The cataract of coal 
had almost ceased. All but one of the several compart- 
ments now bulked high with the glistening black par- 
ticles. A thousand tons of anthracite had rattled down 
the chutes, and now the lumbering, snub-nosed craft 
sat deep in the water. A few minutes more would 
see the last compartment filled. Already the tug that 
was to tow the barge to her dock was fussing about, 
puffing busily as it came alongside and made fast to 
the great scow. 

“ Get a hold of those hatches,” ordered Mr. Hawkins. 

. Joe helped his father adjust and fasten the heavy 
covers of the bins. He scrambled over the heaps of 
coal and along the raised ridge-beam between the 


A STEIKE FOR LIBERTY 


19 


sloping hatches with a dexterity that, coupled with 
the mischief that usually peeped out of his blue eyes, 
might have afforded some justification for Mr. Hawkins^ 
contention that it was necessary to lock Joe up to keep 
him out of trouble. In a very short time every cover 
was in place. Mr. Hawkins yelled to the men ashore 
to “ cast off,” and immediately the Mattie Ford began 
to plough heavily through the waves. 

Ordinarily the trip to Manhattan was made with 
open hatches; but to-day the wind was kicking up 
such a sea that Mr. Hawkins was unwilling to take 
any chances. In rough weather the waves sometimes 
swept completely over the bow of the boat, and a few 
seas in her loaded hold would lay the Mattie Ford 
on the bottom of the Hudson. 

Mr. Hawkins made sure that everything was tight, 
then scrambled up on the hatchway out of reach of the 
water that was already beginning to dash high against 
the bow. Joe started to do the same. There was 
something so pleasantly exciting about the prospect of 
a battle with the waves that he forgot his anger and 
prepared to surrender himself wholly to the joy of an 
unexpected freedom. But before he was half-way up 
the hatch, the coarse voice of Mr. Hawkins reached 
his ears. 

“ Get in the cabin,” shouted that individual. “ You’d 
be in the Bay in two minutes out here, and I’ll be 


20 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


damned if I’m going overboard for any little devil like 
you ! ” 

For Mr. Hawkins, bully though he was, had the 
virtues of his class. Had Joe fallen overboard, he 
would have been after him in a second — and whipped 
him in consequence the minute he got him back on 
deck. 

The bright look vanished from Joe’s face; the light 
fled from his eyes. He went back to the cabin gloomier 
than ever. Hor did he find there aught to cheer him. 

His mother had risen from the bed, and was again 
sitting in the chair by the stove, her face buried in her 
hands, the picture of misery. She glanced up to see 
who was entering. Joe walked straight over to his 
mother and slipped his arm around her neck. 

“ What is it, mother ? ” he asked. 

Mrs. Hawkins sighed. ‘‘ I was so in hopes that we 
wouldn’t get back to-day,” she said. 

Joe understood. It was pay-day. If the Mattie 
Ford could have been detained until the morrow, her 
captain would have drawn his pay in the morning and 
Joe’s mother would have had an even chance with the 
saloon-keeper across the way. But now the Mattie 
Ford would reach her dock just before the night 
whistles blew. Her captain would draw his month’s 

pay, and Joe did not like to think of the rest. 

Possibly it meant another beating for himself. He 


A STRIKE FOR LIBERTY 


21 


knew it meant another hungry month like the present, 
for the potatoes that Helen had just finished slicing 
were the only food left on the boat. And for a week 
past there had been little to eat except potatoes. 

J oe’s face went blacker than ever. But this time he 
gave vent to his feelings in no violent gestures. In- 
stead he kissed his mother. 

“ Never mind, mother,” he said, trying to comfort 
her. “ When I grow up I’ll take care of you. You 
won’t always have to live on a coal barge. And if I 
could only get a job you wouldn’t have to go hungry 
any longer.” 

Thereat Mrs. Hawkins broke down completely and 
cried. Joe’s little face showed keen distress. “ Don’t 
cry, mother,” he said with an awkward attempt at a 
caress. “ I’ll find you something to eat the minute we 
get ashore.” 

“ Oh, Joe ! ” replied his mother. “ I am not hungry. 
You do not understand.” And she fell to crying again 
softly. 

A pregnant silence came over the little family. Joe 
looked sadly puzzled and disturbed. Never, until these 
last three months, had he seen grown-up people cry. 
This tearfulness on the part of his mother was very 
terrible to Joe. He did not know what to do about 
it. His sister did not seem to be at all surprised, but 
she held her tongue. And so the little group con- 


22 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


tinued, the mother with her face in her hands, Helen 
sitting silent on another chair, Little Henry shuffling 
about uneasily on the floor at his play, and Joe stand- 
ing puzzled and distracted by the window. 

At first he did not see the rolling waves, with their 
feathery caps of white and the sun glinting on their 
smooth upward slopes. He was unconscious of the life 
in the harbor and of the stately ships sailing to and 
fro. Presently a fast-going tug passed them and the 
high rolling waves she left behind her came slap 
against the side of the low-lying barge, and splashed 
high in the air. Joe’s window was drenched with the 
salt spray, and some of the flood trickled inside the 
casement. Joe awoke with a start. 

The Mattie Ford was well over toward the Jersey 
shore, heading for her berth at the foot of Barrow 
Street. Through the window Joe saw a wonderful 
picture. Ahead of them on the right loomed the great 
city of Manhattan. Its grime and dinginess were 
disguised by distance. The great buildings reached 
heavenward with impressive grandeur. One by one 
they detached themselves from the general mass as the 
boat moved along, and stood distinct in their individual 
beauty. The sun, now low in the west, lighted up the 
tall shafts with rays of gold. A thousand windows 
glittered with flame. Cornices and spires sparkled and 
shone. New York had become a city of fire. The 


A STEIKE FOR LIBERTY 


23 


noise, the sordidness, the incessant din of traffic, were 
wiped away by distance. Only the glory remained. 
It was thrilling, wonderful. 

Even little Joe could feel the appeal of it. His 
heart beat strangely as he looked. It was the stirring 
of ambition, though Joe did not recognize it as such. 
But vaguely he understood that this great city, this 
fairy creation of the hands of man, was calling to him. 
Vaguely he began to think of the years to come, of the 
fights to be won, the things to be achieved, the heights 
to be climbed. For what ? With a shock he remem- 
bered that he had just promised his mother a crust of 
bread. 

He turned and looked about the dingy little cabin. 
There was no need to do so, for he could have told 
from memory the location of every knot-hole and 
crack. Yet something impelled him to glance around 
the room, just as a departing traveler is led to take a 
last survey of scenes that he knows by heart. Joe 
could not see through the wooden partitions into the 
“ other room.” But he knew that the comfortless bunk 
occupied one part of it, while the few garments of his 
mother and of Mr. Hawkins hung on pegs in the other 
part, with one lone chair standing beneath. 

In the part of the cabin in which Joe stood, the stove 
and some tiny closets occupied most of one side of the 
room, while a table, the steps leading to the deck, and 


24 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


another closet in a corner filled the opposite side. 
There were just chairs enough, including the one in the 
bedroom, to go around. In a corner, rolled into a tight 
cylinder, were two thin mattresses made by Mrs. Haw- 
kins of straw and sheeting, on which the three children 
slept. The steps led to the after deck, which extended 
only a few feet behind the cabin, with no guard-rail to 
prevent one from tumbling overboard. Toward the stern 
and on either side tiny windows let light into the little 
cabin. A broken mirror hung near one of these win- 
dows, and on the rear wall, tilted at an angle, was the 
sole attempt at ornament — a cheap print of Pharaoh’s 
Horses. For Mr. Hawkins was as much addicted to 
“ the ponies ” as he was to the bottle. A ragged piece 
of oilcloth was the sole floor-covering. The woodwork 
had once been painted white but the coal dust that 
now covered everything thick had long since turned it 
dark. So tiny was this little living-room that the 
sprawling Henry occupied all of the available floor 
space. And it was here in this dingy, cramped, little 
compartment that Joe and his brother had been pris- 
oners these weeks past and were like to be these weeks 
to come, unless 

Joe clinched his little fists, but glancing at his 
mother, he remained silent. He looked at Henry. 
Then he turned again and peered out of the window, 
apparently lost in thought. 


A STEIKE FOE LIBEETY 


26 


Presently the silence was broken by Mrs. Hawkins, 
who wiped her eyes with the hem of her tattered 
apron, and rose to fix the fire. “ I’Jl do it, mother,” 
said Helen. Mrs. Hawkins sat down again but even 
this slight exertion had set her to coughing once more. 

Helen raked the fire and sprinkled some fresh coal 
over it. Whatever else the dwellers on the Mattie Ford 
may have lacked, they did not lack warmth. Coal 
was free to them. And that was fortunate, for weak 
Mrs. Hawkins, with her telltale cough, could not long 
have survived her return to the North had she suffered 
from cold also. As it was the raw air of the water- 
front set her to coughing whenever a blast struck her 
from the open door. 

Moving with the tide, the Mattie Ford had come 
swiftly from the great coal terminal and was already 
abreast of the lower end of the city. They would soon 
reach their dock. Helen set the potatoes over the 
glowing coals and stirred them as they began to sizzle. 
The Mattie Ford slowed up when she neared Barrow 
Street, then was shunted into her dock close up against 
the stone facing of the wharf beside the hoisting engine 
and the coal sheds, and was quickly made fast. By 
this time the potatoes were cooked. Helen ran up on 
deck to summon her stepfather. He was not in sight. 
She called him, and a coal heaver told the child that 
her stepfather had just gone across the “ farm,” as the 


26 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


broad, paved water-front is called. Helen needed to be 
told no more. On the other side of the “ farm ” was 
Kelley’s saloon. She went back into the cabin. Mrs. 
Hawkins looked up inquiringly. 

“ He’s gone,” said Helen simply. 

The mother understood. “ Let us eat,” she said 
simply. She knew that fried potatoes could not com- 
pete with a free lunch. 

All through the long evening that followed Mrs. 
Hawkins sat silent by the fire. From time to time a 
coughing spell racked her slender frame. Sometimes 
she wrung her hands. But save when she was spoken 
to, she sat in dumb misery, waiting, waiting. 

A hush had come upon all of them. By a dim 
kerosene lamp Helen was skilfully mending some rents 
in a garment that was really past mending. Plainly it 
required an effort for her to keep her mind on what she 
was doing. From time to time she laid the garment 
down in her lap and sat staring straight ahead of her, 
unseeing. 

Joe and Henry were on the floor playing with some 
jackstraws which Joe had made with his knife. The 
toys of the Wainright children were all home-made 
these days. Little Henry, hardly able to hobble with 
his deformed ankles, had gained a compensating skill 
with his hands and fingers. Baseball and other games 
that required activity he could not play. But with his 


A STRIKE FOR LIBERTY 


27 


skilful fingers he could slide jackstraws out of the 
pile with a dexterity that even Joe, with all his clever- 
ness, could hardly equal. Many were the hours these 
two brothers spent at this simple pastime. And al- 
ways they enjoyed it, for it pleased Henry to feel that 
there was one thing he could do as well as his 
brother, while the keen struggle for mastery delighted 
Joe. To-night their game was subdued. The happy 
laughter that so often rang out during these games was 
heard but little. They played, but as though they, too, 
were waiting. 

Slowly the hours dragged. Finally Helen gave up 
even the pretense of sewing and sat silent in her chair, 
also waiting. The jackstraws palled on the boys and 
were gathered up and put out of harm’s reach. But 
the thin little mattresses in the corner were not un- 
rolled, and the nodding little heads did not fall over in 
sleep. Something kept them awake. Joe and Henry 
talked a little about the happy days in Alabama. 
Helen said little, and the mother’s eyes were misty. 
So through the long hours of a long night they waited. 

And then that for which they waited came. The 
battered little clock on the wall struck one — the hour 
at which the law said that Mr. Kelley must cease tak- 
ing from Charles Hawkins the money that the latter’s 
family needed for food. And shortly after the clock 
struck, the heavy, uncertain tread of Mr. Hawkins was 


28 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


heard, and then the captain of the Mattie Ford came 
stumbling into the little cabin. His wife rose to greet 
him, trembling. The children cowered aside, trying to 
squeeze into the corners out of the way. Mr. Hawkins 
glanced around the cabin and laughed. Evidently he 
was feeling good. He must have enjoyed himself at 
Kelley^s. His heavy hand fell harshly on no little 
shoulders. He even spoke civilly, and as soberly as 
possible, to his wife. He sat down in a chair by the 
stove, but almost immediately the heat made him 
sleepy, and lurching into the bedroom, he fell across 
the bunk and in a minute more was in a drunken 
stupor. 

After a little Mrs. Hawkins followed him into the 
bedroom. She took off his shoes. She raised his feet 
up on the bunk and tried to make him comfortable. 
Yery softly she felt through his pockets. Then she 
came out to the light with a little roll of bills and 
some coins in her hands. Tremblingly she counted the 
money over. Of the fifty dollars, the wages that Mr. 
Hawkins had drawn at sunset, there was left to feed her 
family for the coming month just seventeen dollars and 
forty-three cents. Mrs. Hawkins dropped the money on 
the table and buried her face in her hands. Helen and 
Henry said nothing, but Joe came over to his mother 
and kissed her. 

“ Never mind, mother,” he said. I’m going away 


A STEIKE FOE LIBEETY 


29 


and you won’t have to feed me. And I am going to 
get a job and you won’t have to go hungry any longer.” 

“ Don’t talk so, Joe,” said Mrs. Hawkins. “ You 
will break my heart.” 

After a time the thin little mattresses — pitifully thin 
they now appeared, too — were stretched out on the 
kitchen floor, and with a thin covering over them the 
three little Wainrights lay down to sleep. Then the 
mother blew out the light, stretched herself on the 
very edge of the bunk, and tried to sleep. And after 
a while worn-out nature yielded, and Mrs. Hawkins 
slumbered fitfully. 

But she was awake again soon after daybreak. She 
got up to stir the fire, for the cabin had grown chilly. 
As she glanced toward the little mattresses on the fioor 
she stood dumbfounded. For a moment her heart 
stopped beating. One of the little mattresses was 
empty. Joe and his brother were gone. She went 
to the cabin doorway and called, but she called in 
vain. She sat down in a chair by the fire and bowed 
her face in her hands. 


CHAPTER II 


THE PRICE OF FREEDOM 

H ad Mrs. Hawkins been a little earlier, she would 
have seen her two missing children climb pain- 
fully from the deck of the Mattie Ford, now resting 
deep down in the dock at low tide, up to the top of 
the wharf ; for Joe and his brother had waited for the 
first streaks of daylight to make their escape. Joe had 
been so intent upon his plan of running away that he 
had slept but little. Just what he was going to do he 
did not know, except that he was going to leave the 
Mattie Ford forever. He had heard of other little 
boys who had run away from home and successfully 
made their way in the world. Joe was sure he could 
do as much. He was very young, and he was from 
Alabama. Of the hardships of a friendless lad in a 
great city he had much to learn. 

He slept through the night, waking at intervals, and 
once or twice tiptoeing to the little cabin window to 
look for signs of day. When at last the hoisting 
engine and the coal shed began to stand out more 
distinctly, he knew that morning was at hand. 

Henry ! ” he said, tiptoeing back to his sleeping 
30 


THE PEICE OF FEEEDOM 


31 


brother and shaking him gently by the shoulder. 
“ Wake up ! ” 

“ What ? ” said Henry sleepily. 

“ Sh ! ” said Joe. “ Wake up and be quiet. We are 
going on an adventure.” 

Joe knew exactly how to appeal to his brother. All 
his life the little cripple had dreamed about adventures 
that he was never able to participate in. He had no 
idea what Joe was about to do. It was enough that 
he was asked to share in it. In a second he was wide 
awake. He understood the need of secrecy, and with- 
out question he arose and quietly picked up his shoes. 
He did not have to dress. The little sleepers on the 
Mattie Ford had need of all their clothes to keep them 
warm these chilly nights. Like a shadow Joe glided 
from the cabin, and Henry shuffled behind him as 
quietly as possible. They shut the door and tiptoed 
cautiously along the narrow strip of frosty deck at 
the side of the barge. When they reached the bow 
they put on their shoes. 

How arose a great diflffculty. The Mattie Ford lay 
so low that even a grown man could hardly have 
reached the top of the wharf. For a moment it looked 
as though they would not be able to get ashore. Then 
Joe’s eyes fell on the hawser that ran from the bow of 
the barge to the snubbing-post above. Joe swarmed 
up it like a monkey, regardless of the strip of open 


32 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


water that yawned between barge and wharf. With 
the heedlessness of youth, he bade his crippled brother 
follow him. Henry looked at the yawning water and 
hesitated. But it was only for a moment. He was 
not to be cheated of his adventure. Hand over hand, 
lifting himself entirely by the strength of his arms and 
shoulders, the little cripple started up the rope. Joe 
twisted his feet around the noose at the snubbing- 
post, flattened himself on his belly, and reaching 
down over the edge of the wharf caught the collar 
of Henry’s coat and helped him up. Then, glancing 
fearfully backward, they scurried around the pro- 
tecting shoulder of the coal shed, and found themselves 
free. 

“What are we goin’ to do?” inquired Henry 
eagerly. 

“ Goin’ away,” said Joe. 

“Goin’ away!” repeated Henry perplexed. “I 
thought we were goin’ on an adventure.” 

“ Well, ain’t that an adventure?” said Joe. 

Henry looked disappointed. “I thought I’d have 
something to tell Helen when we got back,” he said. 

“We ain’t a-goin’ back,” said Joe. 

“We — ain’t — a-goin’ — back,” repeated Henry bewil- 
dered. “ Then where are we goin’ and what are we 
goin’ to do ? ” 

“ I dunno,” said J oe. “ But I am sick of being 


THE PRICE OF FREEDOM 33 

locked up on that old coal barge, and I ain’t never 
goin’ back.” 

Henry’s eyes opened wide. “ Where are we goin’ to 
sleep,” he asked, “ and get something to eat ? ” 

“ I dunno,” replied Joe. “ I guess that’s where the 
adventure comes in.” 

Henry hesitated a little, but only for a little. Joe 
had so long looked out for him that he felt small mis- 
giving of the success of this present venture. He was 
thoughtful for a time, and the two walked on in 
silence, Henry hobbling painfully along by the side 
of his brother. 

The great city lay quiet before them, or as nearly 
quiet as it ever becomes. The roar of day was en- 
tirely gone, so that one could hear noises from a dis- 
tance. At intervals an elevated railway train thun- 
dered along near-by Greenwich Street. An occasional 
surface-car disturbed the quiet. Far to the northward 
could be heard the rumble of heavy wagons as farmers 
drove their produce to the Gansevoort market, or be- 
lated four-horse milk vans passed. From the never- 
sleeping ferry-boats came the toot of whistles, now far, 
now near, as they signaled to each other in the dawn- 
ing light. From time to time an early teamster started 
forth for his day’s labor from some near-by stable, and 
went rattling and clattering away over the stone-paved 
road. Everywhere rose the sound of uneasy stir, not 


34 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


loud enough to disturb, but distinct enough to be heard 
and almost felt. It was like the restless slumber of a 
giant. It was the city awakening. Through this low 
undertone of sound individual noises could be heard — 
the sharp clicking of heels on the pavements, the occa- 
sional bang of a door, and even voices here and there, 
as the city’s earliest laborers took their way to work. 

Those who passed hurried by with upturned collars 
and hands thrust deep in pockets, for the morning was 
sharp and frosty. The chill air penetrated to the bone. 
Joe and Henry, clad in the same garments they had 
worn in midsummer, hurried on in the wind seeking a 
place of shelter. Their teeth were all but a-chatter. 
As they passed along the water-front Joe looked on 
every side for the friendly face of some Watchman or 
worker on the piers. But he saw no one he knew. 
The great doors to the pier sheds were closed. Not 
even the saloons were open. There was no place in 
which to get warm. They hurried on from pier to 
pier vainly seeking shelter first in one doorway and 
then in another. Finally they struck into a side street, 
where, protected from the wind by an angle of a build- 
ing, they found comfort over a sidewalk grating 
through which rose the warm air from an engine room 
below. 

Huddled there in the warmth, these tiny sons of lib- 
erty began to take account of stock. It was a short 


THE PKICE OP FREEDOM 


35 


enough process. Of what to do or where to go Joe 
had little idea ; and Henry had none. Despite his con- 
finement on the Mattie Ford Joe had played along the 
water-front long enough to know his way about, and 
to have found some friends, as any lovable youngster 
will do, be he never so tattered and grimy. But to 
these friends Joe dared not turn for help. He was 
afraid they would inform Mr. Hawkins of his where- 
abouts. As to how he should earn money he was 
sorely puzzled. He could carry hand-bags or run er- 
rands ; but he knew that either job could be picked up 
only on occasion. He would have to find something 
that would yield a steady income. Joe had seen lads 
of his own age selling papers day after day at the same 
post, and he decided that he and Henry would become 
paper-boys. Poor Joe ! He had yet to learn that lib- 
erty even to sell newspapers is only for those who 
win it. 

“ Have you got any money ? ” he asked his brother, 
though with no expectation of an answer in the affirm- 
ative. His face expressed his astonishment when 
Henry replied, “Yes,” and drew forth two copper 
cents. Joe took them and produced a long-hoarded 
penny of his own. 

“ For three cents we can buy five papers,” announced 
Joe— a fact he had learned from a friendly water-front 
newsy. “ And when we sell them we can buy — —” 


36 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


Joe scratched his head. “ Well, we can buy some 
more.” 

And how are we goin’ to get our breakfast ? ” de- 
manded Henry. 

In the struggle to determine how many papers could 
be bought for a nickel, with the price at three cents for 
five, Joe had overlooked this important matter. But 
it needed only the word breakfast to tell him that he 
was very hungry. The cold air, the brisk morning 
walk, and the accumulated appetite of days made him 
yearn for food. 

“We can get a ‘ hot dog ’ and a roll for two cents,” 
said Henry, “ and a cup of coffee for two cents more.” 
Joe looked dubiously at the three coppers in his 
hand. 

“ How can we get the other cent, Henry ? ” he asked. 

Just then he espied a man going down West Street 
with a big satchel. Joe ran up to him. 

“ Let me carry your bag, sir,” he said. “ Carry it 
for a cent, sir.” The passer-by hardly looked at Joe. 

“ Please, sir,” pleaded Joe. “ I got three cents and 
I need another to get some breakfast.” 

“ Get out ! ” growled the man, and Joe turned away 
downcast. He was beginning to learn the price of lib- 
erty. He trudged back to the friendly grating. 

“ Come on,” he said. “ We’ll get the ‘ hot dog ’ any- 
way.” And the two lads went slowly down West Street 


THE PRICE OF FREEDOM 


37 


toward a sidewalk restaurant, hardly larger than a dry- 
goods box, that bore on its dingy front the sign : 


Frankfurter and roll 

. 

. 

- 

2c. 

Coffee 

- 

. 

. 

2c. 

Doughnut 

- 

- 

- 

Ic. 

Pie - - - - 

- 

- 

- 

3c. 


Soon they reached the little food stall. 

“ Gimme a ‘ hot dog ’ sandwich,” ordered Joe. 

The aproned man in the box slit open a roll, fished a 
steaming frankfurter out of a kettle and laid it in the 
roll, then wiped a mustard stick along it, and handed 
the tidbit to Joe. 

“ Put on more mustard,” said Joe. And turning to 
Henry while the condiment was being applied, he said : 
“ It’ll help keep us warm.” 

He laid down two pennies and took the sandwich. 
Then, huddling on the sheltered side of the stand, the 
two brothers divided the morsel and devoured it in 
silence. Joe stepped to the front of the stand again. 

“Say, mister,” he said, “I’ve only got one cent 
more. Will you give me a cent’s worth of coffee ? ” 

The stand keeper looked at him for a second. 
“ Sure,” he answered, reaching for a mug. But when 
he handed it to Joe it was filled to the brim. 

“ Thanks, mister,” said Joe, and in the shelter of the 
stand the two lads sipped the grateful steaming liquid, 
draining the cup to the last drop. 


38 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


Then the little wayfarers continued their journey 
down West Street. Not many blocks distant was the 
Pennsylvania Eailroad ferry at Desbrosses Street. Joe 
hoped that he might be able to pick up a few pennies 
there. 

By this time the city was wide awake. Wagons 
were rattling along, filling the street with their clatter, 
and people were passing on sidewalks in never-ending 
processions. The piers were humming with activity. 
With pleasure the Wainright boys saw the stir and 
bustle — the thousands of trucks bearing to and from 
the great steamships bulging loads of boxes, bales, 
bundles, and packages of curious shape, some coming 
from foreign countries, and curiously labeled, and 
others but just starting on their long journey across 
that mysterious ocean that they had so often glimpsed 
from the cabin of the Mattie Ford, 

On the wide asphalted “ farm,” they saw the piles 
and pyramids of articles of commerce, heaped up to 
await a more convenient time for carriage to their 
destination, or for transshipment to some other part of 
the world. Here were great bales of cotton, standing 
in long rows, with white patches showing through the 
dirty, iron-bound wrappers of burlap. Here were 
crates of oranges, heaped high and scenting all the 
water-front with their aroma. In places mysterious 
piles of merchandise were covered over with great 


THE PEICE OF FKEEDOM 


39 


tarpaulins, and other heaps of goods stood under 
wooden awnings. The spaces between were filled with 
trucks, hopelessly tangled in places, their drivers swear- 
ing vigorously at one another. At other places wagons 
stood in orderly rows, backed up against the ware- 
houses, the intelligent horses standing patient under 
their blankets. And at the principal pier sheds brawny 
policemen kept the teamsters in order and the traffic 
moving. 

The ferry was destined to prove an unprofitable field 
of endeavor. What with the development of tunnels 
and the consequent shifting of traffic, the Desbrosses 
Street ferry now carried few besides commuters. 
There were no women travelers, who, Joe knew with 
the unerring instinct of childhood, would have listened 
to his plea and given him their luggage to carry. And 
what carrying of baggage there was to be had was 
gobbled up by older and bigger boys. In vain Joe 
tried to get a bag to carry, while Henry huddled 
shivering by the ferry-house. Finally a burly police- 
man, fearful for the little cripple, rather gruffly bade 
the boys move on. Then and there Joe began to hate 
“ the cops.” 

The lads drifted over toward Broadway. A pedes- 
trian ahead of them shot two newspapers into one of 
the “ robin redbreast ” cans of the street cleaning de- 
partment on a corner. Joe saw hope afresh. He ran 


40 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


to the can and fished out the papers. They were un- 
soiled and looked almost as fresh as new copies. He 
smoothed them out and went on to a busy corner. Ap- 
parently it was a good stand. On the opposite walk a 
big boy with a whole armful of papers was busy selling 
to pedestrians. Joe began to call out his wares. 

“ Sun, mister ? Times f ” he shrilled as he glided 
about among the passers-by. Hardly had he started 
when the newsy on the other curb came across the 
street. 

“ Whatcha mean by sellin’ papes here ? ” he de- 
manded irately. “ Dis is my corner.” 

“ Your corner ? ” queried J oe in astonishment. 

“ Yep, my corner. I been sellin’ here for a year. 
See ? How beat it.” 

Joe did not see. He did not know that a city newsy 
wins and keeps his point of vantage by preemption and 
the force of arms. But he did “ beat it.” The other 
newsy towered a full head above him, and there was 
nothing to do but move on again. 

“ Never mind, Henry,” said Joe, as he saw the tears 
gathering in the eyes of his brother, though he had to 
fight manfully to keep his own eyes dry. “ We’ll have 
better luck next time.” 

They went up the street to another corner, and see- 
ing no rival, Joe once more began to call his papers. 

“ Give me a Sun^"^ said a pedestrian. Joe gleefully 


THE PEICE OP FEEEDOM 


41 


handed out his one copy. The man glanced at the 
paper and tossed it back. “ I read that hours ago,” he 
said. “ Haven’t you an evening paper ? ” 

Joe was learning about the paper business, but the 
process was painful. By this time the morning was 
well past. Fortunately the sun was warm and the 
little adventurers suffered no longer from cold. At 
noon they drifted back, unconsciously, toward Barrow 
Street. But when they came in sight of the coal shed 
fear stopped them. They knew what Mr. Hawkins 
had done to them for no reason at all. What he 
would do now with such provocation they could only 
imagine. So they sought out a sheltered spot against 
a pier shed and sat down in the grateful sunshine. 

Near by a boy but little larger than Joe also seated 
himself. He opened a paper bag, took out a fat sand- 
wich, and began to eat it. The two wanderers watched 
him intently. The stranger first glanced at them 
casually, then turned and gave the cripple a searching 
examination. 

“ Want a hunk ? ” he said presently, and breaking his 
sandwich in two he gave them each a piece. They 
fairly bolted the food. 

“ Youse must be hungry,” he commented. 

“We are,” said Henry. 

“ Didn’t youse have no breakfast ? ” a.sked the 
stranger^ 


42 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


“ A ‘ hot dog ’ sandwich,” replied Joe. 

“ What’s the matter ? Busted ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Joe. 

“ Den youse is up against it. Here, take dis,” and 
he fished up another sandwich out of the bag. “ Got 
any place to sleep ? ” he inquired of a sudden. 

“ JSTo,” replied Joe. 

“ Den I’ll tell you where to go. I slept dere myself 
once. I’m livin’ at home now.” And he directed them 
to a certain pier that was warm — at least it wasn’t 
freezing cold — where a big-hearted watchman would 
let them in. “ Tell him you ain’t got no home,” con- 
cluded the stranger. He stopped and looked the two 
lads over closely for a minute. “ Ain’t you got no 
home ? ” he asked. 

“We used to live on a canal-boat,” rejoined Joe, 
“ but our father — he ain’t our right father, you know — 
beat us, and we run away.” 

“ Ain’t you got no job ? ” 

“No,” said Joe. 

“ An’ ain’t you never lived in Noo York ? ” 

“ No,” replied Joe. 

“Dat’s bad.” Again the stranger looked Henry 
over. “ Dem bum pins ought to be good for a hand- 
out,” he said. 

“We couldn’t beg,” said Joe, fathoming his meaning. 

“ Who wants you to beg ? ” retorted the boy. “ Sell 


THE PEICE OF FEEEDOM 


43 


somethin’.” He rose to go. “Here’s a jitney,” he 
said, and tossed Joe a nickel. 

The sandwich had served only to sharpen their ap- 
petites, and the nickel was soon converted into three 
penny sandwiches and a cup of coffee. 

The afternoon brought a little progress. Henry was 
so tired out by his unwonted exertions that his weak 
little ankles, the result of infantile paralysis, could 
scarce carry him further. Joe found him a warm 
corner in an angle of a pier shed, where the wind was 
shut off and the sun beat down, and left him there to 
watch the busy scenes of the water-front, while he him- 
self went off alone to pursue the adventure of finding 
bread and shelter. 

Henry, snug in his warm corner, was in no danger 
from the surging traffic. He could look on without 
fear. It was pleasant to see the endless stream of 
wagons and people, to watch the teamsters skilfully 
guiding their horses, and the big policeman, like a 
Jupiter in brass and blue, directing every thing. As far 
as the eye could see the water-front seethed with activ- 
ity. It was like the restless, never-ceasing surge of 
the ocean. And the babel of blending sounds that rose 
upward, punctuated now and then with acute single 
noises, like the shouting of a teamster, or the shriek of 
a whistle, was like the roaring of the surf, accented 
now and then by the breaking of a single wave-crest. 


44 


HIS BIG BBOTHER 


The incessant motion tired the eye, and the very noise 
itself induced drowsiness. Henry, who was both tired 
and sleepy, soon yielded to the influence and went fast 
asleep. 

And in this condition he was like to have tumbled 
from his snug perch and fallen into danger, had not 
Sullivan, the big policeman, come over and wakened 
him. He had had his eye on the lad for some time. 
Like all policemen he was wise in the ways of the world. 

“ What did you run away from home for ? ” he de- 
manded severely, after he had shaken the little cripple 
by the shoulder. 

Henry was too terrified to answer at once. He 
knew that a policeman had once arrested Mr. Hawkins 
and given him a black eye, and he had seen policemen 
chasing small boys on the piers. He thought he was 
about to be arrested himself. But neither he nor Joe 
had learned as yet, even when in distress, to lie. And 
so after an interval he said, “ Our father beat us and 
kept us locked up. He was our second father. Our 
right father is dead.” 

“ And who is ‘ us ’ ? ” demanded the policeman. 

“ Why, Joe and me. Joe’s my brother.” 

“ Where is he now ? ” 

“ Tryin’ to get a job,” said Henry. 

“ Humph,” grunted the policeman. “ I suppose I’ll 
have to send you to ” 


THE PEICE OF FREEDOM 


45 


“ Oh. ! please, mister policeman,” pleaded Henry, 
“ don’t lock me up. I ain’t done nothin’. Honest, I 
ain’t. An’ Joe’ll take care of me.” 

“Likely,” grumbled the bluecoat, frowning. Then 
of a sudden he asked, “ Where is your home ? ” 

“ On the Mattie FordP 

“ What ? The coal barge ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ And is your stepfather Hawkins ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Hell ! ” said the policeman. “ Well, you stay awake 
now and tell me when your brother comes back.” The 
guardian of the law returned to his post. On the way 
he muttered to himself, “ Poor little devils ! I’ll have 
to look after them.” 

Meantime J oe had fared forth, still strong in hope. 
Up West Street he went, asking in shop after shop for 
work. He found none. He offered to carry the bags 
of several pedestrians, but his proffers were rejected. 
He kept on and on until he found himself at the ferry 
at Twenty-third Street. Here a friendly newsy gave 
him some pointers about life in New York. 

“It’s a tough game,” said this young philosopher, 
“but youse never wants to chuck up the sponge. 
Somethin’ always turns up when youse don’t expect 
it.” 

And true to his prophecy, something did turn up : 


46 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


for Joe managed to get two bags to carry for two 
women travelers, and each one gave him ten cents. 
With this wealth burning in his pocket, he started back 
to find Henry. But it was a long, long walk. Tired 
out from his hard day, he had to fight himself all the 
way to keep from spending a nickel to ride in a street- 
car. But finally he got back and found Henry. He 
displayed his two dimes proudly. 

“ How we’ll have a feast,” he said. “ Come on.” 

Already it was beginning to grow cold again. The 
little brothers started away. “ I told the cop I’d tell 
him when you got back,” said Henry. 

“ Forget it ! ” replied Joe, already beginning to lapse 
into the language of the streets. “ A guy told me to 
look out for the cops. They chases little boys. We 
don’t want to get pinched. Come on.” And while 
the watchful Sullivan was subduing a recalcitrant 
truck driver, the little adventurers slipped away. 

As they neared the coal dock, Henry said, “I wonder 
how the Mattie Ford looks this afternoon ? ” 

“ I dunno,” replied Joe. “We better keep away from 
there.” But he went right on toward the coal shed. 

“ I suppose,” said Henry, “ it’s nice and warm in the 
cabin.” 

“ I suppose so,” assented Joe. 

“ I wonder what mother’s goin’ to have for supper ? ” 
said Henry. She’s got some money now.” 


THE PEICE OF FREEDOM 


47 


“ I wonder,” echoed Joe. 

By this time they had reached the very edge of the 
coai shed. Another step would expose them to view 
from the barge. They paused. 

“We’d better go away,” said Joe faintly. 

“ Let’s take one look,” said Henry. 

“ All right,” said Joe. “ And then we’ll go.” They 
peeped around the corner of the shed. All was quiet 
aboard. 

“ I wonder,” said Henry, “ how the cabin looks.” 

“I dunno,” said Joe, though he knew every line 
in it. 

“ Let’s take a peep,” said Henry. 

“All right,” said Joe. “Just one and then we’ll 
go.” 

They slipped around the shed and aboard the barge, 
now riding high and almost empty. They tiptoed 
along the narrow deck and peeped into Mr. Hawkins’ 
bedroom. The dragon was not there. They peered 
through the kitchen window. Only their mother was 
at home. She was sitting by the fire, her face buried 
in her hands. 

In an instant the two youngsters were beside her, 
Henry with his face in her lap, and Joe with his arms 
around her neck. She folded them both to her heart, 
and all three began to cry. 

“ Thank God ! ” was all that Mrs. Hawkins could 


48 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


say. But after a while her tears ceased. “ Why did 
you run away ? ” she asked. 

“You know why we run away. We was tired of 
bein’ locked up like dogs,” said Joe. His indignation 
was beginning to rise again. “ An’ I’m goin’ to get a 
job and take you away, too. He don’t treat you right 
either.” 

“ Hush, Joe.” 

“Well, it’s true,” rejoined Joe. He looked around 
the cabin. Then he opened a cupboard. “ Why ain’t 
you gettin’ supper ? ” he asked suspiciously. Mrs. 
Hawkins made an evasive reply. “ I knowed it,” said 
Joe. “He’s took all your money. I wish I was a 
man, I’d ” 

“ Hush, Joe,” said his mother. 

“ Here’s twenty cents,” said Joe, handing out the 
precious dimes. “ Get some supper, mother.” Mrs. 
Hawkins began to cry. 

“ Keep them yourself, Joe,” she said, pressing them 
back into his hand. “ And here’s a quarter to go with 
them.” She did not tell him that it was her last penny 
— all that she had been able to conceal from her lord 
and master when that individual demanded his “ roll ” 
before starting out again for Kelley’s saloon. 

“ What did he say about us ? ” demanded Joe angrily. 

The mother was silent. Mr. Hawkins, when he 
found that the boys had run away, had cursed them 


THE PEICE OF FREEDOM 


49 


fiercely. But the punishments he threatened were not 
because they had gone away. They were in case they 
should come back. Now that he was legitimately rid 
of them, he intended to stay rid of them. Mrs. Haw- 
kins knew that in his present ugly mood her husband 
would live up to his threats. Silently she fought the 
battle of mother love. She could not bear to think of 
her babes adrift in the world. She could bear less 
to think of them in the power of her drunken husband. 
Finally she said, “I am afraid for you if he comes 
home and finds you here.” She remembered that it 
was almost time for supper. He might come home 
for his meal. He probably would if his money was all 
gone. 

“ Joe,” she said, “ is there any place where you can 
sleep ? ” 

“ Sure,” he replied. “ I got a place already — a nice, 
warm place. And a fellow told me where I can get a 
job to-morrow, and ” 

A heavy footfall was heard on the deck. They all 
started. But it was not Mr. Hawkins. It was onl\^ a 
coal heaver come aboard to look for a missing shovel. 

“ You must go,” said the frightened mother, pushing 
her boys gently toward the cabin door. They started 
away. “Joe, Joe,” she called after them. “When- 
ever you are hungry, come back and I will give you 
some money. I’ll get it for you somewhere, somehow.” 


50 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


The two lads climbed ashore, while the mother 
crumpled up in her chair by the fire, in dry-eyed grief. 
Her heart was dying within her. Joe pulled himself 
together. The visit to the Mattie Ford had well-nigh 
broken down all his brave resolution. At eleven our 
moral fibre is not strong. He led the way to a cheap 
eating place, helping his crippled brother over the un- 
even way. 

Then the two went slowly to the pier where the 
strange boy had told them they could find shelter. A 
big watchman stood by the door. 

“ Can we sleep here ? ” inquired Joe timidly. 

“ Ho,” replied the watchman. “ Do you think this 
is a hotel ? ” 

“Please, mister,” pleaded Joe. “We’re cold and 
tired, and we ain’t got no home.” 

“ It’s against orders,” said the watchman. 

“ A fellow told us that you was good to little boys 
and would let us in,” said Joe. 

“ He did, eh ? ” replied the watchman with a show 
of fierceness. “ Well, if any little boys ever slept on 
this pier they must have got in when my back was 
turned.” 

And then for such a conscientious watchman he did 
a strange thing. He walked half-way across the 
“ farm ” to speak to an acquaintance, leaving the door 
to the pier shed wide open. Joe and Henry looked at 


THE PRICE OF FREEDOM 


51 


him in perplexity for a moment, then slipped inside the 
shed. There they found a banana wagon with soft 
straw in the bottom, and two warm, thick blankets in 
the driver’s seat. Joe and Henry were making them- 
selves snug and comfortable when the watchman re- 
turned, locked the door, and retreated into his little 
box of an office. He heard the whispering and the 
stirring in the banana wagon. “ Must be rats ! ” he 
muttered. But no rats ever made sounds like those. 


CHAPTER III 


LIFE OJS^ THE STREETS 

I T must have been very early, for inside of the great 
pier shed it was still dark, when the night watch- 
man came out of his cubby-hole. He carried a big 
teapot, which he filled with water at a faucet. Back 
in his office again, he lighted a small gas stove and set 
the water to heat. If he intended all that tea for him- 
self, he must have been a terrible toper. Then he came 
out of his box again and went straight over to the 
banana wagon, though why he should have done so 
Goodness only knows. And here, apparently to his 
intense astonishment, he found the two little seekers 
after liberty fast asleep in each other’s arms like the 
babes in the wood, and snug and warm in the great 
blankets. 

“ What are you doing here ? ” he demanded sharply, 
waking them from the most comfortable night’s slumber 
they had had in many a week. The boys sat up blink- 
ing and startled. “ Didn’t I tell you it was against the 
rules for me to let anybody on this pier ? ” 

The watchman was about to say something further, 
but Henry, frightened at his fierce look, began to cry. 
62 


LIFE ON THE STEEETS 


53 


Thereupon the watchman turned his back. The little 
offenders slipped out of the truck and made a rush for 
the door. 

“ Come back here,” cried the watchman sternly. 
“ Are you going to let me give you a nice warm bunk 
and then go away without making up your bed ? 
What’ll I tell the truck driver when he sees them 
blankets all mussed up ? ” 

Joe climbed back on the truck, folded and replaced 
the blankets, and then stirred up the hay so as to leave 
no trace of the telltale depression where they had slept. 

“ Come here,” said the watchman when the bed 
making was complete, and he led the way into his 
watch-box. The lads obeyed a-tremble. It was warm 
and cozy. There was only one chair, so the boys stood 
up. The watchman, seated in the chair, could peer 
straight into their faces. Now that Joe had a good 
look at the man he thought he seemed fiercer than 
ever with his great beak of a nose, his shaggy eye- 
brows, and his stern expression. He questioned the 
boys at length, and Joe, seeing no need for conceal- 
ment, told him the truth, even down to the fact that 
their total funds in hand amounted only to fifteen cents. 

“ Well, as long as I’m going to eat you might as well 
join me,” said the man presently, “even if you did 
come here against the rules.” 

He unlocked a little cupboard. On the shelves were 


54 


HIS BIG BROTHEB 


many bananas, some still green, some ripe. There was 
a package, which he took out and opened. It con- 
tained a generous lunch. He gave the boys a sand- 
wich and a hard-boiled egg apiece, and later made them 
divide between them a great slab of pie. There was 
tea enough for them all and to spare. When the three 
had finished eating, the watchman took several bananas 
from his cupboard. The pier of which he was the 
nocturnal guardian was used for unloading fruit. He 
had gathered up some of the green bananas as they fell 
from the bunches in unloading, and was ripening them 
in his cupboard. 

“ Put these in your pockets,” he said. “ I get ’em 
when the ship’s unloading. It’s a good place to be 
when you’re hungry,” and he gave Joe a very peculiar 
look. Then he said, “ Now get out of here. And 
don’t ever let me catch you coming on this dock.” 

By this time the city was beginning to stir. Joe 
and Henry made straight for the Twenty-third Street 
ferry. There Joe had had his only luck of the day be- 
fore, and there he was going to try fortune again. His 
attempt at selling newspapers had been so unsuccessful 
that he thought he would try something else. The ad- 
vice of the street urchin to “ sell something ” Joe 
turned over in his mind. He was going to get some 
pencils. He had often seen boys selling pencils. Be- 
tween selling pencils and carrying baggage he thought 


LIFE ON THE STREETS 


65 


he could get along — and as for Henry, perhaps he, too, 
might sell an occasional pencil or a paper, though Joe 
looked for very little assistance from his deformed 
brother. He was too inexperienced in the ways of the 
world to know that in some respects his brother’s 
chance just now was better than his own. When they 
arrived at the plaza in front of the ferry-houses, Henry 
sat down on a bench, while Joe hurried away to get 
the pencils. 

Joe was gone a long time, for not knowing where to 
get pencils cheaply elsewhere, he hunted up a five-and- 
ten-cent store. Meanwhile Henry sat on the bench. 
It wasn’t so very cold, and in watching the people pass 
he forgot about himself. After a time he thought he 
would smooth his hair. He laid his cap on his knee 
and was stroking his tousled head when he felt some- 
thing drop in his cap. He looked. It was a five-cent 
piece. A number of people were passing close to him, 
but none of them seemed to have lost the coin. Henry 
was about to call out for an owner when the thought 
came to him that perhaps it had been dropped pur- 
posely. His pale face went scarlet. They took him 
for a beggar. 

He recalled what the boy who gave them a sandwich 
had said about his “ bum pins” and a “ hand-out.” He 
had understood that to mean that if he chose to beg, 
his deformity would likely help him, but he had never 


56 


HIS BIG BKOTHEE 


dreamed that people would press charity upon him. 
All his life he had suffered because of his deformity. 
But never had he felt such humiliation as this. People 
took him for a beggar. They would always take him 
for a beggar, because he was deformed for life. He 
hated himself and his shrunken limbs as he had never 
hated before. He wished he could be strong and act- 
ive and independent like Joe. Then he could take 
care of himself. And in the poignancy of his grief he 
almost hated Joe. He wanted to run away, to crawl 
out of sight and hide himself. He slid off the bench. 
Then he remembered that he must wait for Joe. He 
couldn’t go away. He wriggled back into his seat 
again and began to cry. Then the thought came to 
him that people would not understand his grief and 
would perhaps give him more charity. He checked 
his tears and sat there in silent misery, shamefaced, 
looking down. But his cap was tight on his head. 

Then at last came Joe. Never before had Henry 
concealed anything from Joe. But he had been hurt 
so deeply that he could not bring himself to tell any- 
body. And besides he had wronged Joe in feeling bit- 
ter toward him, even if it were only for an instant — 
good old Joe, who had always helped him and taken 
care of him. So he was silent. 

But Joe noticed the pitiful look on Henry’s face. 
“ Never mind, Henry,” he said confidently, “ we’re all 


LIFE ON THE STEEETS 


67 


right now. We won’t have to go hungry no more. 
I’ve got some pencils to sell.” He drew forth eighteen 
pencils that he had gotten for his fifteen cents. He 
gave Henry six and kept twelve himself. “ We’ll sell 
them for three cents apiece,” said Joe. “ You stay 
here, and I’ll go down to the ferry-house.” 

Joe approached the great ferry buildings and took a 
post on the outer walk. When a boat came in he ran 
to meet the crowd, calling his wares and picking out 
the individuals that he thought would be most likely 
to buy from him. The pencils went slowly. In fact 
they hardly went at all. But, though he knew it not, 
the training was of value to Joe. He was studying 
psychology and physiognomy in the best university in 
the world. Between the times of boat arrivals he 
pressed his wares on stray travelers, or talked with the 
friendly newsy with whom he had conversed the day 
before. From him Joe learned many things. 

“ Fer fifteen cents,” said the newsy, “ ye can go to 
de Lurie. Dey gives you a bed and yer grub. It’s 
over in Thoity-fourth Street.” 

“ What’s the Lurie ? ” asked J oe. 

“ A lodgin’-house for boys,” replied the newsy. He 
described the glories of the place. “You gets a bed 
all to yerself, wid clean sheets,” he said. “An’ it’s 
warm, and de grub’s good.” 

To Joe this sounded much like a description of 


58 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


Heaven. “We’re goin’ there,” he announced. “An’ 
what did you say they had to eat ? ” And Joe made 
the newsy recite in detail the story of how they were 
fed at the Lurie. 

For a while Joe’s spirits remained high, as he thought 
of the comforts in store for them at the Lurie. But as 
hour after hour passed and nobody would buy his 
pencils, he began to feel disheartened. From time to 
time he looked over at Henry on his bench. The little 
cripple sat there as patient as a statue. Joe had in- 
tended to go over and tell him of the good news about 
the Lurie. JS’ow he was afraid to do so, lest he raise 
hopes only to have them dashed to pieces again. So 
he remained at his post. But at one of his glances 
toward Henry, he saw his brother waving his arms 
frantically at him. He ran over to the bench. 

“ Give me some more pencils,” said Henry. “ I’ve 
sold all of mine.” 

“ You ! ” ejaculated Joe in astonishment. And then 
as he saw the hurt look in Henry’s face, he added, 
“ Good for you, Henry. You’re a better salesman than 
\me.” 

Henry smiled faintly. But the smile covered a 
hurt. He knew it was his deformed feet that sold the 
pencils, not he. For twice purchasers had pressed a 
nickel on him in payment. Each time he had refused 
to accept more than the price of the pencil, and for 


LIFE ON THE STREETS 


69 


many weeks to come the little cripple would have none 
of anything that looked to him like charity. 

Joe gave his brother six more pencils, and went back 
to his post. After a time he got a bag to carry and 
that netted him five cents. He sold one more pencil, 
making three in all that he had disposed of. By this 
time the noon whistles were blowing and Joe was 
ravenous. He went to his brother and they counted up. 
Joe had fourteen cents and Henry twenty-seven. He 
had sold nine pencils. The nickel that had come to 
him as a gift was hidden in a pocket. He made no 
mention of it to Joe. 

“You got almost twice as much as me,” said Joe, 
showing astonishment and no little admiration. And 
the way in which he said it thrilled the little cripple 
with real happiness ; for Joe’s statement showed that 
Henry had risen in Joe’s estimation to a parity with 
himself. 

Of the total capital of forty-one cents now in hand, 
only twenty-nine cents was profit. Both boys under- 
stood that they must not lessen their original capital, 
and twelve cents were put aside for reinvestment. 
Even so, they felt wealthy. Twenty-nine cents to 
spend ! If they could make that sum in the morning, 
they could doubtless do as well in the afternoon. And 
if they did, they could go to the Lurie. Forthwith Joe 
communicated to Henry the story of that delectable 


60 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


place, while with shining eyes the two trudged off to an 
eating place to enjoy the fruits of their labor. 

Somehow things did not go right after dinner. 
Perhaps it was because of the perversity of inanimate 
things that some one has complained of. Perhaps it 
was because the crowds coming to the city in the after- 
noon were different from the morning masses. What- 
ever it was, it almost spelled disaster for these latest 
recruits in the arm}^ of those who toil. Joe lugged a 
sample case, so heavy that it nigh tore his little arms 
from their sockets, three long blocks to the elevated 
railway station for a sharp-faced Jew, who beat him 
down to three cents in payment. Henry sold two 
pencils. Then, when the day was growing old, J oe in 
desperation invested six cents in ten evening news- 
papers. He saw that everybody was carrying or buy- 
ing newspapers. But all the good stands were pre- 
empted, so Joe had to go off to an inconspicuous corner, 
and there after more than an hour of effort, he dis- 
posed of eight of his papers. He could have sold 
more, but people did not want the ones he had for sale. 
So, sadly, he learned another lesson in psychology. 
Fortunately his papers were of the final editions, and 
he sold the remaining two to another newsy for one 
cent. His venture had netted him three cents. He 
went back to Henry. Between them they had cleared 
ten cents. There still remained four pencils. 


LIFE ON THE STEEETS 


61 


The vision of the Lurie went a-glimmering. More 
than ever they saw that at all costs they must keep 
their capital. They must dine that night on ten cents. 
Fortunately each boy had saved a banana. At a 
frankfurter stand near by they had each a “ hot dog ” 
sandwich, a cup of coffee, and a penny square of cheap 
chocolate candy. Then, munching their bananas, they 
trudged away to hold counsel together as to where 
they should sleep. A few weeks later this would have 
given them small concern. Like rats and stray dogs, 
they soon learned where the snug holes were to be 
found. But as yet they were woefully ignorant. A 
night’s lodging still meant to these little wayfarers a 
bed and covers — and they knew not where to get 
either. 

They discussed the watchman of the pier where they 
had slept the night before. The street urchin had told 
them he was big-hearted, but he had talked very sternly 
to them. To be sure he had given them some break- 
fast, but, as he had remarked at the time, that was only 
because he was going to eat himself. Joe was for 
going back and taking another chance. Henry felt 
frightened at the remembrance of that fierce visage. 

“Maybe we can sneak in again,” suggested Joe. 
“ And if we get in when he don’t know it, he won’t 
hurt us. He didn’t do anything to us this morning.” 

And not knowing what else to do, the tired lads 


62 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


went down the water-front, once more hushed,, and 
now illuminated with big arc lights. They approached 
the forbidden pier with great circumspection. As they 
drew near, they saw a very strange thing. The watch- 
man, instead of resting in his comfortable chair in his 
office, was pacing up and down in the chilly night in 
front of his door, and from time to time he stopped 
and looked intently up the long water-front. Of a 
sudden he espied them — at least Joe at first thought 
so, but he must have been mistaken, for the watchman 
instantly turned and paced the other way, lengthening 
his beat, and neglecting his open door shamefully. 
When he turned about Joe and his brother had van- 
ished. Apparently the watchman had had about 
enough exercise, for very soon he went back to his 
pier, locked the great door, and retired to his den. 
And if he heard any rats this time he said nothing. 


CHAPTER lY 


THE LAW IN THE CASE 

S O began a long period of hardship and privation* 
Newspapers and pencils proved to be the main- 
stay in the matter of earning a living, or rather of 
eking out an existence. To be sure the two boys 
tried selling shoe-strings and other odds and ends of 
sidewalk traffic, but with small success. The little 
capital risked in these ventures remained tied up for a 
long time, though the experience gained by the ven- 
tures came quick enough. Nor did it take them long 
to discover that unsold papers could be exchanged for 
later issues, thus precluding loss of capital. So they 
drifted into the great army of newsboys. And this 
was perhaps fortunate. For one thing it helped to 
keep them out of mischief. For another thing it de- 
veloped them marvelously. It made them good judges 
of human nature. It quickened and sharpened their 
wits. They became shrewd, aggressive, confident. 
They gained initiative and courage. In no time at 
all they looked back with scorn at the weak showing 
they had made in the first days of their strike for 
freedom. 


63 


64 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


Between times Joe ran errands, carried baggage, 
did odd jobs ; for though the sale of papers kept them 
alive, the income therefrom was anything but regal. 
A successful day’s trade seldom netted more than 
thirty cents to each of them. More often they made 
twenty cents. Not infrequently they subsisted on 
fifteen cents each. 

Always Joe sought for a “ reg’lar job,” as he put it ; 
but always he met with the reply that he was too 
young. This ever angered Joe. Despite poor food 
and none too much of it, he was growing fast and be- 
coming both tough and strong. For a long time no 
one took the trouble to inform him that the law for- 
bade the employment of children of his age, until one 
day his wrath exploded against the man who had 
roused it by refusal of a job. 

“ I cannot hire you on account of the law,” said that 
individual after J oe had expostulated angrily. ‘‘ The 
law will not allow me to hire you until you are four- 
teen years old.” 

‘‘ But I’m big enough and strong enough to do any 
job in your shop,” maintained Joe aggressively. 

“ Perhaps you are,” said the man, “ but you haven’t 
had enough schooling.” 

“What’s that got to do with it,” angrily retorted 
Joe, “ if I can do the work ? ” 

“ The law says that you cannot be employed until 


THE LAW IN THE CASE 


65 


you are fourteen years old and have reached a certain 
grade in school,” returned the man. 

Joe turned away disheartened. In his limited knowl- 
edge law and the police were inextricably confused. 
He understood somehow that the law was gotten up by 
some one for unwarrantable interference with personal 
liberty and that “ de cops ” were the means of making 
this interference effective. Already they had chased 
him more than once, causing him the loss of many a 
penny’s worth of traffic. But here was an injustice be- 
yond his worst dreams. Even if he could find a job, 
the law would not allow him to take it. What was 
worse, two years and more must elapse before he would 
be old enough. To a youngster of Joe’s age it might 
as well have been a century. And then, when he was 
old enough, he couldn’t get a job unless he had been to 
school a good deal longer, Joe rightly suspected, than 
he had been. Now that he had something definite to 
go on, Joe hated the law almost as much as he hated 
“ de cops.” 

Poor Joe ! He did not understand that the very law 
he had come to hate was meant for his own protection 
from things that he was Still too young to understand, 
worldly-wise though he was becoming. Still less did 
he dream that that same distasteful law was to be the 
means of helping him gain the things he most desired. 

But though he could get no permanent employment. 


66 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


he often picked up temporary jobs. Sometimes he re- 
moved the wrappings from newly received furniture in 
a great furnishing house. At times he was employed 
to separate pieces of wood from the paper wrappings in 
the same establishment. Often he carried bundles or 
ran errands. He had his eyes open for every possible 
bit of work. Once he got a job at bailing the water 
from a flooded elevator-shaft after a big storm. For 
that he got a quarter, which was the most money he 
had ever received for any job ; and though his little 
back was nigh broken in half by the labor, he returned 
to Henry in high glee. It was a red-letter day for the 
lads. Henry had netted twenty-nine cents from the 
sale of papers, and Joe had earned thirty cents in ad- 
dition to his quarter. 

They hastened to a cheap restaurant. With such 
riches they could have their fill. Each had an order 
of ham and beans, with coffee. Then followed pie — 
lemon pie for Joe and apple pie for Henry. They ate 
four doughnuts each. Orders of ice-cream followed. 
Then they ate cocoanut cake, with a bottle of lemon 
soda between them. Apple dumplings came next. 
And then, because they had only seven cents left, they 
bought each a frankfurter sandwich with plenty of 
mustard, and spent the remaining three cents at a side- 
walk stand for molasses candy and peanuts. It was a 
big night for them. 


THE LAW IN THE CASE 


67 


This time the brothers had chosen food in preference 
to a bed. At the Lurie they could have had both for 
less than the cost of this meal alone, but the fare at 
the Lurie, though wholesome and substantial, was 
plain and the menu limited. Already the unadorned 
bill of fare, that had once sounded so good as to need 
repetition, had palled on them. Like the rest of us, 
they must needs have their fling, even if, like Franklin 
with his whistle, they paid dear for it. 

But going without a bed was no longer a hardship 
to these little urchins. As the weeks had passed they 
had learned well how to care for themselves. They 
knew every warm grating, every protected cellar way 
and area way, and every other place of possible refuge 
within a considerable radius of the ferry where they 
plied their callings. 

For many a night after they ran away from the 
Mattie Ford they had slept in the fruit pier near the 
coal shed. Yery quickly they saw through the watch- 
man’s pretended fierceness. Yet he kept up the pre- 
tense to the end, rating them roundly every morning 
that he found them asleep in one of his wagons — and 
as often sharing his breakfast with them. To-night, 
made wakeful by the gastronomic struggles doubtless 
going on within them, they chose to make the long 
journey down to the fruit pier. There they were al- 
ways sure of a comfortable nest. It was well that they 


68 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


did. On the water-front they encountered the watch- 
man. He told them that their stepfather, during a 
spell of drunkenness that afternoon, had fallen and cut 
his head, and had had his wound stitched up by an 
ambulance surgeon. 

“ I was just cornin’ on duty,” said the watchman, 
“and I noticed the crowd about the ambulance. 
Seein’ it was backed up against the Mattie Ford^ I 
pushed through the crowd, thinkin’ your mother might 
be worse. It was only Hawkins, but when the doc 
come out I says to him, ‘ Doc,’ says I, ‘ can’t nothin’ 
be done for the woman in there ? She’s got the con.’ 

“ ‘ Sure,’ he says. ‘ I looked at her when I was inside. 
She looks to me as though she might get better if only 
she had the right kind of food.’ 

“ ‘ An’ what’s that ? ’ I says. 

“ ‘ Why, milk and eggs, and other nourishin’ things,’ 
he says.” 

Joe was very serious when he slipped inside the pier 
shed and sought out a comfortable truck for slumber. 
Long after Henry was asleep, Joe lay staring into the 
darkness above him, thinking about what the watch- 
man had told him. Concerning consumption Joe had 
somehow become a fatalist. Like many others of his 
class, he supposed that there was no escape from death 
once one had contracted tuberculosis. Death might 
come sooner or later, but come it would. He had seen 


THE LAW m THE CASE 


69 


his father sicken and die. Then his mother began to 
decline, and whenever Joe had thought of the matter 
at all, which had been seldom, it was merely to wonder 
how long his mother would live. That she might re- 
cover was a new thought to him. 

No sooner had his little mind grasped that fact, 
however, than he bent all his mental energy to a solu- 
tion of the problem of how to bring this recovery 
about. Milk and eggs! How could he get them? 
Joe turned the matter over and over in his mind. The 
experience of weeks had shown him that the meagre 
profits from the sale of newspapers would not bring 
the needed relief. A steady job was the only solution 
that Joe could see. And when he came to this con- 
clusion he cried out angrily against the law that for- 
bade his working, and he cursed the unknown authors 
of that law. And staring despairingly at the darkness 
about him, like a fugitive looking at the wall of a blind 
alley, the troubled child at last found forgetfulness in 
sleep. 

He wanted to go aboard the Mattie Ford next morn- 
ing, but dared not do so on account of his stepfather. 
He resolved to pay a visit at the first opportunity, 
however, and so resolving, shuffled away to work in a 
very bitter mood. He began to think of society as an 
enemy, to believe that the law, the police, and the 
populace generally were somehow hostile to him. 


70 


HIS BIG BEOTHEB 


As the weeks went by that feeling grew. Try as he 
would, he could do no better than wring a bare exist- 
ence from the society he was beginning to hate. Yet 
it was only at times that his mind took a misanthropic 
tinge. He grew bigger, sturdier, hardier, more in- 
dependent. For the most part he was still the laugh- 
ing, care-free, mischievous lad he had always been, 
delighting in pranks and adventures. And many was 
the tight hole he got out of only by virtue of a ready 
tongue or nimble legs. 

His appearance was truly pitiful. His face and 
hands were dark with grime. His hair was long and 
unkempt. With the approach of winter he had ac- 
quired from somewhere an old suit of gray clothes 
that had been made for a rather stout man. These 
Joe wore outside of his other garments. He kept the 
trousers from falling off with a strap that had once 
been a part of a harness, and rolled the bottoms up 
until his feet protruded. The coat came to his knees, 
and the sleeves he shortened by rolling up the cuffs. 
His own shoes, long since worn to rags, had been 
discarded for a pair once worn by a full-grown man. 
Joe’s feet slid around inside of them, and they flopped 
about when he walked, giving him a clumsy, clownish 
appearance. 

Perhaps it was this appearance of pitifulness that 
helped Joe, or perhaps it was his growing ability to 


THE LAW IN THE CASE 


71 


read people, that made him more successful as time 
went on. Both he and Henry now earned more 
money. Henry hoarded his surplus for a long time 
and finally bought himself some crutches. They were 
as effective as a stage property. The kindly disposed 
no longer needed to be pled with to make them pur- 
chasers. They bought his pencils and papers, and not 
infrequently paid him double the price asked. His 
original reluctance to take gratuities slowly disap- 
peared. All about him the lad saw men acquiring 
things in questionable ways — policemen grafting on 
fruit merchant or peanut vender, cabbies extorting 
undue prices, baggage-men and public employees sell- 
ing as favors what they should have rendered as public 
service. Why should not he take what came his way ? 
As the moral fibre of the lads slowly broke down, 
they did without hesitation what at first they would 
have refused to do. Henry not merely accepted gra- 
tuities. At times he actually begged for them. Thus 
slowly but surely, the protective coating of native moral 
strength was corroded by the strong acid of evil influ- 
ence. By almost imperceptible degrees Henry had 
come from the point where the mere thought of being 
considered a beggar was torture to the situation of 
actually being a beggar. And Joe now did readily 
many things that in his first days on the streets he 
would have scorned to do. He ran questionable er- 


72 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


rands, occasionally hooked an apple from a stand, and 
was glad of a chance to share in the petty graft of 
cabman or clerk. 

With the increased income thus secured, the two 
boys were often in comparative affluence. On a very 
good day Henry sometimes netted as much as a dollar. 
Joe could make fifty cents when things went right. 
And this was well. It gave them better food, which 
their little bodies much needed at this period of growth. 
Their success also had its dangers. They began to at- 
tend theatres and go to moving-picture shows. And 
as these entertainments were necessarily of the cheap- 
est and worst character, the effect was bad. They saw 
much of the evils of night life and little of the good 
side of society. Inevitably they began to go with a 
gang. The child is father to the man, and man is a so- 
cial animal. Living wholly on their own resources, it 
was inevitable that they should seek out companions. 
These necessarily were of their street acquaintances. 
Mostly they were young boys, but little older than 
themselves. Their instincts were mischievous rather 
than criminal. Could some one have turned their 
activities into safe channels, they would have come 
through to manhood safely enough. But there was no 
one to guide them aright. The little forays that began 
in an effort to plague some disliked watchman grew 
in time into raids for the purpose of theft. 


THE LAW IN THE CASE 


73 


Although Joe was friendly with the gang, and in- 
deed was unconsciously a member of it, he strangely 
enough refused to gamble. He tried craps and lost. 
That settled it. He had too urgent a need for his 
funds to risk them. The thing that held him back, 
the slender thread that kept him fast to lawfulness, 
was mother love. Weak though Mrs. Hawkins was, 
she loved her children with a true and noble affection. 
In the matter of righteousness her own life had been 
exemplary. The one act for which she could blame 
herself was the fact that in a moment of weakness, 
when life was going ill with her and her brood, she 
had married Hawkins. It appeared to be an easy way 
out of a difficult place. But she had paid dearly for 
her weakness. Ever had she striven to keep her chil- 
dren in the paths of rectitude. And though her preach- 
ments had accomplished little, her mother love had 
done much. Whenever Joe came to see his mother, as 
he had come occasionally ever since he ran away, he 
went back to his tasks a better boy. And now that he 
was trying to effect her recovery he saw her more 
often. To buy their mother milk and eggs the brothers 
hoarded their extra pennies. This in itself went a long 
way to keep them from evil shows and harmful moving- 
picture places. Perhaps it drove them to the gang for 
.recreation, but here again love for mother proved an 
antidote. At every visit Joe’s mother talked over with 


74 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


him the affairs of his life. She listened to his story of 
struggle and effort. Little could she guide him, but 
this appeal she never failed to make. 

“You must be a good boy, Joe,” she always said, 
“ for when I get well and strong again, and you are 
grown up so I can live with you, I want to have a boy I 
can be proud of.” 

For Mrs. Hawkins had begun to take hope. The 
milk and eggs, and the other nourishing food she 
bought with the small sums Joe brought her, had be- 
gun to have an effect. She felt better, was obviously 
stronger, and had begun really to hope that picture 
painted by Joe, of a reunited family and a home of 
their own, when Joe should be old enough to get a 
“ reg’lar job,” might in time be something besides a 
vision. 

And so the weeks passed. Every time the brothers 
could accumulate enough extra money to buy a supply 
of eggs and milk — and after all it was pitifully infre- 
quent — Joe went down to the coal dock and slipped 
aboard the Mattie Ford. For days thereafter he 
avoided the gang, hustling for pennies every minute of 
the day, and hoarding his coppers with fierce jealousy. 


CHAPTER Y 


A MISHAP AND WHAT CAME OF IT 

A bout the time that the watchman of the banana 
pier told Joe of the milk and egg remedy, another 
event occurred that played a part in the destiny of the 
dwellers on the Mattie Ford. This time Helen was the 
instrument of their betterment. Now well past her 
fifteenth birthday she had grown into a large girl. 
Physically, indeed, she had attained nearly her full 
development. She was tall, sturdy, and well rounded. 
Always pretty as a child, she had become a young 
woman of genuine beauty. Her features were regular 
and good. Her red cheeks emphasized the blueness of 
her eyes, and her abundant hair of brownish gold 
framed her face bewitchingly. 

But the distinguishing mark about this child, the 
thing that gave her real beauty rather than mere pret- 
tiness, was her expression. The responsibilities that 
had fallen upon her shoulders since the death of her 
father — the oversight of her brothers, the care of her 
sickly mother, the task of feeding hungry mouths from 
a larder too often bare — all these things had left their 
imprint on her face. Sweetness and strength were 
75 


76 


ms BIG BEOTHEB 


both to be read in the half sad, half smiling little 
countenance. The Divine Artist had done more than 
sketch her face. He had added strokes of the brush 
that gave character to his sketch. And it was this 
sweet strength of soul shining out through her counte- 
nance like church lights beaming through memorial 
windows that gave her face its beauty. 

Just as this beauty differed from that of most girls 
of fifteen, so did the use she made of it differ from 
the end to which most youthful feminine beauty is 
put. Instead of being an element of weakness with 
Helen, her beauty was a tower of strength. Beared as 
she had been amid better although still commonplace 
surroundings, she had no taste for flirtations with the 
rough youths that she saw along the water-front. 
Hor indeed had she desire for flirtations of any sort. 
The business of feeding hungry mouths from an empty 
cupboard left no time for thought of romance. And in 
this business her good looks were of no small value to 
Helen. 

As Mr. Hawkins gradually became more and more 
besotted, giving his wife ever less for food as his at- 
tendance at the free lunch grew more frequent, Helen 
was driven to forage for subsistence. If she could have 
gotten worK, things might have been better for her and 
her mother ; but, like Joe, she could not overcome cir- 
cumstances. At first she lacked both schooling and 


A MISHAP AKD WHAT CAME OP IT 77 


age. Then as time passed, and Mrs. Hawkins grew 
more frail and feeble, she could not have gone away to 
work, even had a task been provided. She could only 
stay on the coal barge and care for her declining 
mother. And finally, alas, her clothes alone would 
have prevented her from either obtaining or holding a 
job. She possessed nothing to cover her save a few 
faded rags that all but hung in shreds. 

These told their own pitiful tale and served only to 
heighten the effect of the wistfully sweet face. The 
workmen on the piers, touched by her appearance and 
won by her simple dignity, scrupled not to help her — 
even at the cost of their employers. But this Helen 
did not suspect. Green bananas that the Italian fruit 
handlers guarded jealously from marauding small boys 
they gave her gladly. Hardly a crate of fruit or a box 
of oranges broke open that there were not abstracted 
from it before it could be renailed some of its contents 
to be kept for the ragged little girl with the blue eyes. 
When the steamers from the South lay in port, and 
their cargoes of watermelons were trundled out in un- 
ceasing streams and heaped high on the “farm,” a 
luscious sample seldom failed to find its way to the 
cabin of the Mattie Ford. Yet at best the table in 
that cabin was furnished but meagrely. 

One day Helen went down the water-front to a pier 
where cocoanuts were being unloaded. A great steamer 


78 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


from the tropics lay in the dock. Through her open 
hatchways great slings brought up the hairy cocoanuts 
by the hundreds, and swung them over to the pier 
shed. Occasionally some would roll from the heaped-up 
sling. Sometimes they fell back into the ship’s hold or 
on the deck. Sometimes they dropped into the narrow 
strip of water twixt ship and pier. But mostly they 
tumbled out of the sling as the stevedores hauled this 
conveyor into the pier shed. 

Into the sweating, swearing group of men handling 
this cargo, Helen unobtrusively pushed her way, wait- 
ing for a chance to seize an escaped cocoanut. Few 
fell from the slings, and those that did were picked up 
by the stevedores and thrown into the waiting wagons 
with the other nuts. Gradually Helen worked her way 
close to the gangway and waited. Presently a cocoa- 
nut fell and rolled down the sharp incline of the gang- 
way. Helen sprang after it, slipped on a bit of orange 
peel, and shot head first into the water betvreen ship 
and pier. 

A cry went up from the stevedores. Instantly all 
was confusion. Some called for a rope. Others shouted 
for a ladder. The policeman at the pier entrance heard 
the hubbub. He pushed his way through the excited 
stevedores, who were peering down into the water. 
The hem of a ragged blue dress swirled into sight and 
the policeman dropped from the gangway. It was 


A MISHAP AND WHAT CAME OF IT 79 


Sullivan. He clutched the wisp of blue, drew a sub- 
merged figure toward him and raised the head above 
water. Then he was sucked under the pier by the rush- 
ing ebb-tide. They heard him bellowing down among 
the pilings. By this time some one had a rope. It 
was lowered on the down-stream side of the pier, and 
loud voices informed the rescuer. He saw the rope 
and struggled to it. 

“ Haul the kid up first,” he called, as he made the 
rope fast under her arms. 

She was lifted and laid on the floor. The big police- 
man followed. Helen was still conscious, but feeling 
very bad. She had swallowed much water. With 
dexterity the policeman laid the child on his rolled-up 
coat, bade her open her mouth, and soon relieved her 
of the water. Then without waiting for an ambulance 
or any other assistance, he picked the girl up in his 
arms and bore her to the Mattie Ford, with a great 
crowd trailing behind him. 

Poor Mrs. Hawkins nearly died of fright when the 
big policeman crouched and entered the cabin, carry- 
ing the motionless child. But a word from Helen re- 
assured her. 

Truly it is an ill wind that blows nobody good. 
While Mrs. Hawkins was stripping and rubbing her 
daughter according to instructions from Sullivan, the 
latter was taking a good survey of the cabin. Nothing 


80 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


escaped his practiced eye. He was cognizant of 
Hawkins’ habits. He knew all about Helen’s almost 
daily search for food. Many a time had he seen her 
hurrying along the water-front after a successful forag- 
ing trip. He recalled the little cripple, who had got- 
ten away from him without a further interview. In a 
glance he read the entire sordid story of life on the 
Mattie Ford, With a freedom known only to kings 
and policemen he threw open the cupboard doors and 
noted the empty shelves. What he said would hardly 
bear repeating. Then, when Helen was dressed in dry 
garments — they were her mother’s, for she had no extra 
ones of her own — and the policeman was certain that 
she was all right, he left the barge. 

When he went off duty that evening, lie made 
straight for Kelley’s saloon. He found Hawkins and 
led him out on a deserted pier. Fifteen minutes later 
the two emerged from the pier shed. What the big 
policeman said to Hawkins will probably never be 
known. But Hawkins glared at him, as he walked 
away, with a look in which were mingled both hatred 
and fear. Then he shambled into the cabin of the 
Mattie Ford^ laid five dollars on the table, and shuffled 
out without a word. 

The next day Sullivan came aboard the coal barge 
during his noon relief. Helen and her mother greeted 
him with tears in their eyes. So little of kindness 


A MISHAP AND WHAT CAME OF IT 81 


came into the mother’s life that a mere courtesy almost 
set her crying. Mrs. Hawkins began again to thank 
the policeman for what he had done ; and Helen, in her 
impulsive gratitude, could scarce refrain from kissing 
her big rescuer. Whereupon the embarrassed guardian 
of the law forbade them to say more. 

“’Twasn’t nothin’,” he declared. “And what's a 
policeman for, anyway ? ” But just the same, any one 
with half an eye could see that he was vastly pleased. 
“ I just come in to see how the kid’s getting along,” he 
began. And then as he saw the flush on Helen’s face, 
he added, “ Excuse me ; I mean how the young lady’s 
standing her wetting.” But before either woman could 
answer, he turned to Helen and said, “ I don’t need to 
be told. You look as fresh as a daisy in June.” There 
was a pause. “Does Hawkins provide for you all 
right ? ” asked the policeman bluntly. 

“ Indeed, Mr. Sullivan,” replied the mother, “ he 
hasn’t looked after us very well of late, but last night 
he came and gave me five dollars. I think that he 
must have been much affected by Helen’s danger.” 

“ Is that so ? ” rejoined the policeman. “ I’m glad 
to hear it. Of course he was affected by the young 
lady’s danger. Who wouldn’t be ? ” 

Thereat Helen’s cheeks flamed redder than ever. 
Certainly the ducking in the Hudson had not chilled 
her blood. 


82 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


Before Sullivan left the coal barge he knew the piti- 
ful story of the Hawkins-Wainright family from be- 
ginning to end. He learned how capable Helen was 
with her needle; and he also guessed that her rags 
and her mother’s illness made it impossible for her to 
go to work. 

“ How are the kids gettin’ on ? ” he asked with real 
interest. Mrs. Hawkins told him. At first he shook 
his head dubiously ; but when she told him about the milk 
and eggs they had begun to bring her, and how already 
she was feeling stronger, he smiled approval. “ They’ll 
do,” he said. “ They’re a credit to you, Mrs. Hawkins.” 

The big policeman walked back to his post. He 
frowned as he thought the matter over. “ I could get 
the girl a job if she could take it,” he muttered after a 
time. “And I can get her some clothes anyway. 
Looks to me as though the best thing I can do is to 
keep them kids straight and see that the mother has 
food enough and ain’t misused. I can do that, or I’ll 
know the reason why.” And the stern look that rested 
on Sullivan’s face for a few minutes boded no good for 
Mr. Hawkins. 

Sullivan had not overdrawn his power. Hardly a 
week passed thereafter that he did not come aboard 
the coal barge. One more interview he had with 
Hawkins after hours, and an eavesdropper might have 
heard the sound of more than conversation. That 


A MISHAP AND WHAT CAME OF IT 83 


interview was just after Hawkins had failed for the 
first week since Helen’s wetting to leave a contribu- 
tion on the table for the weekly food supply. There- 
after there was never a lapse in the food supply on the 
Mattie Ford. 

“ He always gives me money for food and he never 
beats us any more,” Mrs. Hawkins told Sullivan on one 
of the latter’s visits to the coal barge. “ I can’t ac- 
count for it.” 

Compared to what it had been, life aboard the 
Mattie Ford became easy. Sullivan had obtained a 
few cast-off garments from a mission society, and these 
Helen deftly turned into dresses for her mother and 
herself. And though they were severely plain, they 
were at least decent. They had food, though it was 
plain and often coarse. At least there were few days 
when there was not something on the table to eat. 
And thanks to the sturdy little brothers milk and eggs 
were now not rarities. 

Both Helen and her mother showed in their faces 
and conduct the effect of the change. Mrs. Hawkins, 
though still wracked by coughing spells, slowly grew 
stronger. Helen, with more time now, got out the 
school books she had brought from Alabama and treas- 
ured through all her difficulties. She, too, was looking 
forward to better times. She wanted to get ready for 
them when they came. 


84 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


And yet, despite all this betterment, it was at best 
but a pitiful existence aboard the coal barge. Of femi- 
nine companionship the two had practically naught. 
The near-by tenement dwellers were rough and often 
immoral. The few women on the other coal barges 
were little better. Instinctively Mrs. Hawkins avoided 
them. She knew that friendliness with them would 
open up danger for her daughter. And Helen had met 
with enough advances from the youths of the neigh- 
borhood to fear them. So the two women lived in 
solitude. Of clothes they had only those made from 
the cast-off garments brought them by Mr. Sullivan ; 
but these, despite the coal dust and grime, they kept 
clean and neat. For recreation they had no money. 
In fact they had money for nothing but food. For 
Hawkins shaved his appropriations as close to the bone 
as he dared. 

Sometimes they made considerable journeys in the 
Mattie Ford. Once they went to Hew London. They 
visited other Sound ports. For the most part these 
journeys were enjoyable. In a high sea the waves not 
infrequently swept completely over the sturdy little 
barge. This always terrified them. But in calm 
weather they could sit above deck in the fresh air and 
enjoy the sunshine and the passing scenery. It was 
good for Mrs. Hawkins. And it was a welcome con- 
trast to their existence in the foul dock in the Hudson, 


A MISHAP AND WHAT CAME OP IT 85 


where they were shut in on each side by towering pier 
sheds, with the coal shed and its clatter on the land- 
ward side, and all too often even the riverward view 
obstructed by great ships and barges in the dock. 

So they existed week after week, denied human com- 
panionship, denied the innocent pleasures of society, 
without books or even newspapers, with barely cloth- 
ing enough for decency, with no chance for recreation 
or entertainment that cost money, not always with all 
they desired to eat, beset by foul smells, shut in by un- 
sightly ware sheds, and even in fear of brutality. And 
yet they were happy, in a way — so much better was 
this than what once had been. For Time was fighting 
on their side, and Hope had taken up his residence in 
the little cabin. 


CHAPTER YI 

joe’s fiest ceime 

B ut hope was not unmixed with misgiving and at 
times almost despair ; for it was centred on one 
small boy of twelve years, who was adrift in the world, 
with no friendly hand to help him, and fighting for life 
itself against terrific odds. As time passed, the odds 
became heavier, for Joe was now approaching that 
period of his life when he would pass from boyhood 
into young manhood. Small wonder that his mother 
sometimes wept as she thought over his chances. 

Could she have seen enough of Joe to know just how 
he lived, how he talked, what he did, she might have 
wept oftener. For Joe showed only his good side to 
his mother on his visits to the Mattie Ford. 

He was now as well able to take care of himself as 
any wharf-rat. When he slept on a pier nowadays it 
was only because he did so from choice — usually to 
search out a cool spot during the scorching days of 
midsummer, when the city became one vast, super- 
heated oven of brick and stone, in which the masses 
sweltered and gasped for breath, and from which the 
well-to-do fled as from the plague itself. More than 
86 


JOE’S FIEST CEIME 


87 


one night he passed on the hard cement floor of some 
sheltered area way; and when it was cool he often 
curled up for the night on a friendly grating, whence 
poured the warm air from an engine room. For a 
time during the pleasant weather in early summer he 
slept on a pile of sacks under a water-tank on the roof 
of a tall tenement. To reach this lair he had first to 
sneak through the cellar way, make a hazardous leap 
from a fence to the fire-escape, and climb seventy feet 
up a dizzy ladder. 

His slumbers there were ended when, discovered by 
the janitor as he climbed the fire-escape, he sought 
safety in a wild flight over the roofs, while the hue and 
cry of “ burglar ” was raised, pistols were fired, and 
the police called in. Joe well knew that if he were 
caught no one would believe his explanation, even 
though the corroborating pile of sacks was under the 
water-tank, and that he would probably land in the 
reformatory. He got away only by a daring rush 
down a ladder, with a policeman hot after him. He 
dared not go back to this refuge again. And this mis- 
fortune, with many others, he added to his growing 
charge against the police. How he hated them ! 

The reason for all this vagrancy, if so it might be 
termed, was not that Joe had not the price of a bed, 
but because he was still hoarding his pennies for milk 
and eggs. Business was poor in these hot days. To 


88 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


have paid for a bed would have taken about all he had. 
And to Joe, now grown tough as rawhide and ac- 
customed to every form of hardship, beds seemed like 
an unnecessary luxury. 

All this, of course, separated Joe from his brother. 
Slowly but surely the two were drifting apart. Henry, 
taking in almost daily more than Joe, was well able to 
look after his own fortunes. Always petted and pro- 
tected by others, he had never gained that strength of 
character which was so conspicuous in J oe, and he had 
almost unavoidably become somewhat selfish. The 
favors that his deformity had brought him had led 
him to feel that it was his right not only to have bread, 
but to have it well buttered. At first, in an enthusiasm 
of sentiment, he had really denied himself to add to 
Joe’s egg fund. Gradually he came to give grudgingly 
to it. Finally Joe no longer asked him for money, 
willing that he should spend on himself whatever he 
earned. 

“ Let him keep his money,” soliloquized Joe. “ He 
ain’t never had no fun, and he ought to get something 
for bein’ a cripple.” So little by little the two brothers 
drifted apart. 

Unquestionably Joe had grown tough. His language 
was now the language of the streets. He respected 
neither man nor God. He saw life with the cynical 
eye of bitter experience. He took to cigarettes. But 


JOE’S FIEST CEIME 


89 


alcohol he would none of. His friends in the gang 
offered him drink, pressed him to join them on many a 
clandestine beer party. But Joe shunned the stuff as 
he would the devil. Always at the suggestion of drink 
there rose before his eyes the vision of a hulking, red- 
faced monster on a coal barge, coming after him with 
upraised club ; for Joe knew as much as he knew any- 
thing that the evil light that shone from those awful 
eyes and the menace of that upraised club were 
nothing in the world but the outward sign of the inner 
demon that Hawkins had imbibed from a tall glass. 

Being a lad of spirit, J oe could not let his enemies 
rest. So he became a police baiter. He loved nothing 
better than to worry those hated arms of the law. 
Many a time he hooked an apple from a fruit stand for 
the sole purpose of tempting a bluecoat to chase him. 

Early one evening with a half dozen of his comrades, 
he had wandered far up-town. An Italian driving a 
fruit wagon came along. “ Look at de dago,” sang out 
one of the group. “ Let’s hold him up an’ trim him fer 
de tings dat’s in de wagon.” 

Before they knew what they were doing, the pack 
had surrounded the cart. Two of the boys grabbed 
the horse’s bridle and stopped the animal. The sleepy 
Italian opened his eyes in wonder as his animal stopped. 
Then seeing the cause of the delay, he leaped from his 
seat, whip in hand, and made after the youngsters. It 


90 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


was a fatal move. While he was unsuccessfully pur- 
suing these two lads, the others swarmed up on the 
back of the wagon and stuffed their pockets full of 
fruit. The children of the neighborhood, seeing a 
chance for free fruit, joined in the robbery. When the 
driver got back, he had lost a good boxful of apples 
and oranges. His clamor brought a policeman, but 
Joe and his comrades vanished down a side street. 

That was Joe’s first crime, though he hardly realized 
that it was a crime, even while he was thinking it 
over as the gang huddled under a big platform near a 
factory, enjoying the results of their labors. Of course, 
Joe knew that it was not right to take other people’s 
property. But to a youngster of twelve the matter of 
honesty is still somewhat of an academic question. Joe 
thought not at all about the ethical side of what he 
had done. The lesson he drew from the venture was 
that he had gotten something for nothing — or at least 
with so little effort that it seemed like nothing. To 
Joe, moral values were as yet intangible quantities. He 
was thinking of how this new process of getting things 
might be employed to some purpose. 

The result of that cogitation was apparent a few 
nights later when Joe wandered down the water-front 
toward a certain pier where eggs are landed by a 
steamer from the South. Apparently the fates were 
with Joe. And in the light of what followed, it was 


JOE’S FIRST CRIME 


91 


just as well that they were. By special arrangement 
a passenger steamer was to dock this night at this par- 
ticular pier, and a regular member of the water-front 
police squad, accustomed to handling traffic at the 
piers, was detailed here, to await the arrival of this 
vessel and see that the disembarkation proceeded in 
orderly fashion. As the steamer was delayed at quar- 
antine, the policeman improved the opportunity to rest 
his tired feet, stretching himself out in the watchman’s 
snug box. The watchman, thinking two guardians un- 
necessary, slipped away for an evening’s sport. 

So it happened that when Joe and his comrades 
stealthily approached the pier, they found, to their 
amazement, the door slightly open, and the pier appar- 
ently deserted. They slipped into the great shed like 
ghosts, crouching near the doorway in the shadow, and 
peering sharply into the darkness within. All was 
quiet. They heard not so much as the scamper of a 
rat. When their eyes had become accustomed to the 
darkness, they groped their way among boxes and bales 
and bundles, until on the far end of the pier they found 
a pile of egg-carriers. In trying to remove a case from 
the top of the pile, they knocked a wooden box off of a 
ledge. It crashed to the floor with a tremendous racket, 
and the great shed echoed and reechoed with the 
sound. The youthful pirates slid behind protecting 
mounds of merchandise and waited. 


92 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


They had not long to wait. The form of the big 
policeman appeared in the doorway, sharply outlined 
against the glare from the arc lights along the water- 
front. In a minute there was a crackling and sputter- 
ing overhead, and the great lights in the pier shed 
blazed out, making the vast warehouse as bright as day. 
The policeman swung the door to and hooked it. Then 
he drew his night-stick and started down the pier shed. 

All was quiet. No sound but his own footsteps 
broke the stillness. He came on slowly, peering be- 
hind every bale and bundle, passing unexamined noth- 
ing behind which an intruder might lurk. On and on 
he came. As he neared the end of the pier he seemed 
puzzled. He had neither heard nor seen anything sus- 
picious since that first crash. But he was too practiced 
a policeman to be deceived by the stillness. He knew 
that it had taken human hands to dislodge a box heavy 
enough to make such a noise. He was within ten feet 
of the egg-carriers before he had a clue to the where- 
abouts of the intruders. Then a kind of scratching, 
burrowing sound came to his ears. He listened in- 
tently, tiptoed over to a pile of burlap and sail-cloth, 
and caught the foot of an urchin who was worming his 
way under the pile. It was Joe. While the policeman 
was drawing him, squirming and kicking, from his ref- 
uge, the other young pirates scuttled for the door, un- 
hooked it, and disappeared. 


JOE’S PIEST CEIME 


93 


Grasping Joe firmly by the shoulder, the policeman 
started for the station-house. As he passed the watch- 
man’s box, his eye fell on the clock. It was almost 
time for the steamer. 

“ I’ll have to lock the little devil in here and take 
him to the station after the boat’s docked,” muttered 
the policeman. “ It’s little sleep I get this night.” 

He turned into the box and locked the door. Then 
he took a good look at his youthful prisoner. Under 
the rags and dirt he saw a little soul. He had children 
of his own, had this policeman. He looked Joe over 
long and intently. 

“ What’s your name ? ” he asked presently. 

“ Joe Wainright,” said the prisoner, foreseeing no 
need to speak falsely. 

The effect on the policeman was remarkable. He 
took another look at the lad, then bent forward in his 
chair and peered straight into Joe’s eyes. He saw that 
they were honest eyes. “Is old Hawkins your step- 
father ? ” he asked. 

Joe was startled. The cop knew him. He nodded 
his head. 

“ So you’re the lad that ran away to seek his fortune, 
are you ? ” he said. 

Joe was silent. 

“ It’s a nice end you’ve come to— arrested as a thief.” 

Joe hung his head sullenly. 


94 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


“ What was you trying to steal ? ” There was no 
reply. “ You won’t talk, eh ? ” said the policeman 
frowning. “ I’ve a notion to hand you over to 
Hawkins. He’ll make you talk quick enough ” 

“ Don’t do that ! ” interrupted the youngster. 
“ Please don’t do that. I’ll tell you all you want to 
know.” 

“ All right,” said the policeman, “ but be sure you 
tell me the truth.” 

“ I will. Honest I will,” replied Joe. “ Cross me 
heart on it,” and he suited the deed to the words. 

“Yery well, then, what was you trying to 
steal ? ” 

“ Eggs,” said Joe. 

“ Likely,” commented the policeman. 

“ Take me oath,” insisted Joe. “ Dat’s de truth.” 

‘‘ What did you want with eggs ? ” 

“ I wanted ’em for me mudder.” And here the little 
eyes filled with tears. “ Honest I did,” went on Joe. 
“ Me mudder’s got de con, an’ de doc says she can get 
well if she can only git eggs. I buys her eggs when I 
has de cush, but me business is on de bum, and I can’t 
buy her none, so I tries to get some here.” 

The policeman knew that Joe was telling the truth. 
It was Sullivan. “Joe,” he said, “you did right to 
try to help your mother, but you took the wrong way 
to do it. Suppose you are convicted as a thief, and 


JOE’S FIRST CRIME 


95 


sent away to prison and disgraced for life. Is that go- 
ing to help your mother any ? ” 

Joe was silent and thoughtful. “ No/’ he said after 
a pause. “ But how am I to get de eggs ? Me mud- 
der’s got to have ’em.” ' 

“ But what about the man who owns the eggs ? ” 
urged the policeman. 

“ It won’t hurt him to lose a few,” argued Joe. 
‘‘And besides he won’t never miss ’em, dere’s so 
many.” 

“ Suppose some one wanted to sell papers, and not 
having money to buy any, took some of yours,” argued 
Sullivan. 

“Dat’s different,” said Joe. “I needs all de papes 
I has. And anyway, I’d like to see any bloke try it.” 

“ How do you know this egg merchant doesn’t need 
all his eggs ? ” 

“ Aw, he’s got lots of ’em. He wouldn’t miss a few.” 

“Joe,” said the policeman, “suppose it’s a cold night 
and you are trying to sell five more papers to get a bed 
for the night and I came along and stole three of your 
five papers. Three papers wouldn’t be much of a loss, 
but wouldn’t it make a difference to you ? ” 

Joe was silent. 

“ You don’t know how much the owner of these eggs 
needs them. Maybe he needs every egg he’s got to 
pay his rent. If you steal them maybe he can’t pay 


96 HIS BIG BROTHER 

his rent and he and his family will be turned out on 
the street.” 

“ I didn’t tink about dat,” said Joe. 

“ Now, Joe, I’m a friend of yours and ” 

“ Nix. You’re a cop,” said Joe. 

“ And can’t a cop be a friend ? ” 

“ Frends don’t chase you wid a night-stick.” 

“ But we only do that to protect somebody from an- 
noyance or loss.” 

“ What do de cops run me away from de ferry fer, 
so I can’t make a livin’ ? ” demanded Joe. 

“ Did you ever stop to think that if there weren’t 
any cops you wouldn’t have any papers to sell ? ” 

Joe was puzzled. “ Watcha mean ? ” he asked. 

“ Why, somebody who is bigger and stronger than 
you are would take your papers away from you. The 
reason they don’t is because they’re afraid of the cops. 
Isn’t it better to be chased once in a while when you 
are in the road than never to have any papers to sell ? ” 
Joe knew only too well that Sullivan spoke the truth. 
He lived in a world where, as far as its inhabitants 
dared, they substituted might for right. So he was 
silent. 

Suddenly he said, “ If you’re a fren’ of mine, what 
are you goin’ to do to prove it ? ” 

“ I’m going to give you another chance. I’m going 
to let you go. Am I your friend ? ” 


JOE’S FIEST CEIME 97 

“ Sure,” said Joe. “ Shake.” And he thrust out a 
grimy paw. 

“ Then if I’m your friend,” went on Sullivan, after 
the hand shake, “ I want you to do something for me ; 
will you ? ” 

“ What is it ? ” asked Joe. ‘‘ I ain’t no snitcher, you 
know.” 

“ I don’t want you to snitch, Joe. I want you to be 
a good boy. I know all about your family ” 

“ Are you de cop me mudder tells me about ? ” broke 
in Joe. “De one wat saves Helen an’ brings me mud- 
der de swell does ? ” 

“ Yes, I’m that cop.” 

“ Shake,” said Joe, again thrusting forth his hand. 
“ Youse me fren’ all right.” 

“Well, then, Joe,” resumed Sullivan, “I want you to 
promise me that you will never again steal anything. 
If you don’t want to promise because it’s right, prom- 
ise because you want to show your thanks for what I 
did for your mother.” 

“ I promise,” said Joe. 

“ And don’t tease the cops. They’re your friends.” 

“ I won’t,” said Joe. 

“ How you can go,” said Sullivan, throwing open the 
door. 

“ Tanks,” said Joe, as he vanished into the night. 

“ Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it,” mused Sullivan. 


98 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


“ He was trying to rob the pier all right. But IVe 
only done to him what I hope some other cop will do 
to my kids if ever they get into trouble.’’ Then he 
walked to the end of the pier to meet the incoming 
steamer. 


CHAPTER VII 


IN THE POLICE DRAG-NET 

J OE left the egg pier a wiser and also somewhat 
better boy. The talk with Sullivan had made a 
deep impression on him. He had seen “ de cops ” in a 
new light. Never before had he thought of a police- 
man as having aught of sympathy for the street urchins 
they so frequently “ chased.” 

If Sullivan could have told Joe more about the law, 
why law is necessary, how beneficial it really is, and 
how imperative it becomes for each one of us, children 
as well as grown-ups, to obey the law, the seed would 
have fallen on fertile ground. For after Joe learned 
that Sullivan was that paragon among policemen who 
had been helping his mother and sister, he would have 
accepted without hesitation whatever that worthy chose 
to tell him. Joe’s criterion of men was their deeds. 
Sullivan might be a cop, but he had helped Joe’s mother 
— and that settled it. That made him in Joe’s estima- 
tion a man, a real man, with feelings and a heart and 
the will to help where he could. But Sullivan had not 
thought to embrace his opportunity to enlighten the 
little wanderer, and so Joe went away feeling much as 
99 


100 HIS BIG BEOTHEE 

ever toward the law, but vastly changed in his ideas as 
to policemen. 

Instinctively Joe felt that this man would help him. 
Sullivan had helped Joe’s mother ; Sullivan knew that 
Joe was trying to help that mother ; there wasn’t any 
doubt about it — Sullivan would help him. Through 
all the hardships and struggles of the months that had 
passed since he left the Mattie Ford, Joe had had to 
struggle on alone. To be sure, he had Henry, but 
Henry was a burden rather than a support. There was 
no one to whom he could tell his troubles, no one with 
whom he could discuss his difficulties. The burden of 
life had at times fallen on his shoulders with crushing 
weight. 

Though he had now become callous and somewhat 
indifferent, he could not forget those early days of fear 
and struggle. And even yet there lingered deep in his 
heart, as there is in the heart of every man, an un- 
acknowledged longing for some one to love him, some 
one to help him. This feeling Joe did not acknowledge 
in so many words, but it was there, no matter how 
rigidly he repressed it. How it found expression in the 
belief that Sullivan would help him. 

Indeed poor Joe needed help. In his own way he 
had been trying hard to do right, but like the beetle 
butting against the window-pane, he got nowhere. 
Months had gone by and he was no nearer accomplish- 


IN THE POLICE DBAG-NET 


101 


ing his purpose than he had been at the start. If only 
some one could have helped Joe, if only someone older 
and wiser than Joe could have guided his footsteps and 
cheered his struggles, what a mighty difference it 
would have made. If just one soul in all that seething 
city could have taken an interest in the lad, how it 
might have lightened his way, how it might have kept 
his feet from straying. But there had been no friend 
— not one. Small wonder that Joe yearned for friend- 
ship. 

Having given his word that he would not steal again, 
Joe meant to keep it. That meant that he must never 
again “ hook ” an apple from a fruit stand, “ swipe ” 
green bananas from the Italian fruit handlers at the 
piers, or “ crook ” watermelons on the “ farm ” — for of all 
these minor misdemeanors Joe had been guilty. What 
time had previously gone into such pranks was now 
devoted to paper selling. Indeed Joe became for the 
time a model of industry. Early and late he was on the 
streets, crying his papers. 

And as though fate must vent its irony on J oe him- 
self, it was this very industry that got him into the 
clutches of the law. From the other newsies Joe had 
long ago learned that the law made it necessary for all 
boys of less than fourteen years to secure a permit 
before they could peddle papers. To Joe this was but 
part and parcel of that unwarranted interference with 


102 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


personal liberty, which he understood the law to be. 
Naturally he gave no heed to the mandate. In this 
respect he had many fellows. Seldom were these “ un- 
permitted” newsies molested. The police were too 
busy dealing with offenses of moment to notice such 
slight infractions of the law. The special squad de- 
tailed to enforce the law was inadequate and indeed 
indifferent. Policemen do not relish the duty of lock- 
ing up small boys. But just now the papers were full 
of a pitiful accident that had befallen one of these 
“ unpermitted ” newsies. The resultant wave of public 
feeling stirred this special squad to activity. And 
when they flung their drag-net about the great ferry 
one afternoon Joe was the one fish enmeshed. 

If possible, he hated the law now more than ever. 
If he couldn’t sell papers without a permit, and he 
knew he couldn’t obtain one because he was not attend- 
ing school, how was he going to earn a living ? And 
how was his mother to get eggs ? 

Very, very bitter at heart was Joe as he rode in the 
big patrol-wagon to the Children’s Society before his 
arraignment at the Children’s Court. When he arrived 
there it was found that there still remained time for 
his arraignment that afternoon, so Joe merely had his 
face washed clean, and was bundled off to answer at 
the bar of justice for his infraction of the law. 


CHAPTER Yin 


THE PEOPLE V8. JOE WAINRIGHT 
HE day’s session was practically over when they 



A hustled Joe into the court-room. The Judge had 
just shaken the immaculate hand of Mr. Meredith 
Everington, the great corporation lawyer, who had 
called to see him on a legal matter in which both were 
interested, when Joe was haled to the bar of justice. 

“ Another ? ” said the Judge. “ I thought we were 
through.” 

“ This is the last, Your Honor,” said an attendant. 

He was just brought in.” 

“ One moment, please, while I hear this case, Mr. 
Everington,” said His Honor, “ and then I will be with 
you. Won’t you take this chair while you wait?” 
He pushed a seat toward his caller. 

The lawyer sat down stiffly beside him. Something 
in the atmosphere displeased him. He sniffed the air 
openly. It was the smell of poverty, as some one has 
termed it — the scent of unwashed human beings that 
not even the partly opened windows could overcome. 
As he sniffed, Mr. Everington looked out over the 
spectators’ benches. A number of ragged men and 


X03 


104 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


women were still in court. Mr. Everington’s lip curled 
with contempt. It was very different from the palatial 
halls of the Supreme Court where he was accustomed 
to argue for his rich clients. Disgust was plainly writ- 
ten on his face. 

Never before had Joe presented such a pitiable ap- 
pearance. He still wore the suit of gray, rolled up at 
wrist and ankle, but now it was soiled beyond recogni- 
tion, torn, and tattered, and hanging in great folds about 
his little body. The bit of flannel shirt, once gray, that 
peeped above the collar of his coat was almost black. 
In startling contrast was Joe’s little face, so long 
eclipsed by grime, but now shining like the sun from 
the vigorous scrubbing it had had. The cheeks were 
rosy as a girl’s. The wavy brown hair, now neatly 
combed, set off the well-shaped forehead and the 
strong, little nose. The wide-set blue eyes looked 
straight into the J udge’s, fearless but perplexed. And 
on the little countenance was written such a story 
of childish innocence and worldly wisdom that the 
Judge’s attention was instantly riveted on the youthful 
prisoner. 

For a full half minute the Judge surveyed him, 
sweeping his eye from the shining face to the worn-out 
shoes and back again. 

“ Did you ever see the like ! ” he exclaimed, turning 
to Mr. Everington. 


THE PEOPLE VS. JOE WAINEIGHT 106 


“ Disgusting ! ’’ answered the lawyer. 

The faintest suggestion of a frown passed over the 
Judge’s face. “ AVhat a puzzle he presents,” he said. 
“ That face and those rags. I wonder what the story 
is behind them.” 

“Some miserable beggar, doubtless,” replied Mr. 
Everington, making no effort to conceal his disgust. 

All this time Joe had been watching the Judge, as a 
wild animal watches his captor ; yet his eyes contained 
no hint of fear. 

“The People vs. Joe Wainright,” read the Judge, 
picking up the typewritten complaint that a clerk 
laid before him. “Is that your right name?” he 
asked. 

“ Yes,” said Joe. 

“ Well, Joe, what are you here for ? ” 

“ I dunno,” replied the prisoner ; “ I ain’t done 
nothin’. Ast him.” And he nodded at the police- 
man. 

“He was selling papers without a permit. Your 
Honor,” spoke up the bluecoat. 

“ I see,” said the Court. “ How old are you, Joe ? ” 

“ Twelve years,” answered Joe. 

“ Where do you live ? ” 

“ I don’t live nowheres.” 

“ You must live somewhere, Joe. Where do you 


5 ) 


106 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


“ I used to sleep under a water-tank on a roof, but 
de cops chased me and now I ain’t got no place to 
sleep.” 

“ But you must sleep somewhere. Where do you 
pass the nights ? ” ^ 

“ Sometimes I sleeps in a hallway, sometimes in a 
wagon ; an’ when it’s cold I goes down to a fact’ry on 
West Street where dere’s a warm gratin’.” 

“ Are your parents living ? ” asked the Judge, a note 
of pity creeping into his voice. 

“Me mudder is,” said Joe, “but me f adder’s dead. 
Dat is, me right f adder is.” 

“ Then you have a stepfather ? ” 

Joe nodded his head. 

“ What is his business ? ” 

“ He’s captain of a coal barge,” replied Joe. 

“ Does your mother live with him ? ” 

“ Sure.” 

“ Then why aren’t you living at home, Joe? ” 

“ I can’t,” explained Joe. “ Me fadder beats me an’ 
I runs away, an’ me mudder says he’s goin’ to kill me 
if I goes back.” 

The Judge’s face grew stern. “ Does he drink, 
Joe ? ” he asked. 

“ Sure,” said Joe. “ He’s drunk all de time.” 

“ When did you run away ? ” asked the Court, 

Joe told him, 


THE PEOPLE VS. JOE WAINRIGHT 107 


“Why, that was more than a year ago,” said the 
J udge. “ Do you mean to say that you’ve been living 
in the streets of New York all that time ? ” 

“ Sure,” said Joe. 

“ Where do you go to school ? ” 

“ Go to school ? ” queried Joe. “ I don’t go to 
school. I ain’t got time. I has to earn a livin’.” 

“ Bless me,” murmured the Judge. “ Twelve years 
old and too busy earning a living to go to school.” 
He paused for a moment, deep in thought. “Joe,” 
said His Honor suddenly, “ have you ever been ar- 
rested ? ” 

“ Nix,” said Joe, “ but de cops chased me lots of 
times, and once one of ’em got me. But he let me go 
again. I ain’t never been locked up.” 

A smile flitted across the face of the Judge. 
“ What were you doing the time you were caught ? ” 
he asked. 

“ Stealin’ eggs,” answered Joe. 

The judicial countenance became grave. “ Stealing 
eggs — and the officer let you go ? Who was the 
policeman ? ” 

“ I ain’t a-goin’ to tell,” said Joe. “ He’s a fren’ of 
mine.” 

The Judge grew stern. “ Did the officer take some 
of the money you got by selling the eggs ? ” he de- 
manded sharply. 


108 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


“You don’t understand, Judge,” replied Joe. “I 
didn’t get no eggs. I was only tryin’ to. De cop got 
me before I had ’em. Den he gives me a talkin’ to an’ 
lets me go.” 

“ I suppose he was lazy and didn’t want to be both- 
ered with bringing you here. That sort of thing has 
got to stop. I want you to tell me that policeman’s 
name.” 

“ I won’t,” said Joe, with decision. “ Didn’t I tell 
you he was a fren’ of mine ? ” 

“ If you are going to defy the Court.” said His 
Honor severely, “ I shall have to send you away until 
you are willing to tell me what I want to know.” 

The little face began to quiver. Joe jabbed his 
doubled fists into his eyes and brushed the tears aside. 
“You mustn’t send me away. Judge,” he said in a 
voice, half pleading, half defiant. “ What’ll me 
mudder do if I goes away ? Who’ll get de eggs 
for her?” 

“ Did your mother put you up to stealing eggs ? ” 
asked the Court. 

“ You don’t understan’. Judge,” said the little pris- 
oner, the tears now flowing unchecked. “ Me mudder’s 
got de con, and de doc says she can get well if she only 
has eggs, and dere ain’t nobody but me to get ’em for 
her.” 

“ Bless my heart ! ” exclaimed the Judge. “ Do you 


THE PEOPLE VS. JOE WAINEIGHT 109 


mean to tell me that your mother has consumption and 
that you have been trying to supply her with eggs ? 
And then, with a sudden insight, he added, “ And is 
that why you sleep on roofs and over gratings — so you 
can buy your mother eggs ? ” 

“Sure,” said Joe. “I promised Sulli — I mean de 
cop I wouldn’t never steal nothin’ more, so I can’t af- 
ford a bed.” 

“ Joe, you’re a good boy,” suddenly remarked the 
Judge, and in his own eyes there was more than a sus- 
picion of moisture. “ I’m going to see that you have a 
chance to go to school and learn something.” 

“ And what’ll me mudder do ? ” demanded Joe, his 
face beginning to pucker up again. 

“ Your mother will be all right, Joe. I’ll order your 
father to take care of her and to support you, too, while 
you attend school.” 

“ ’Tain’t no use. Judge,” said Joe. “ Sullivan told 
him to do dat, too. If he won’t mind Sullivan, how 
are you going to make him do anything ? ” 

“ Sullivan ? Who’s Sullivan ? ” 

“ He’s a cop,” said Joe slowly. 

“ Is he the policeman that caught you stealing eggs ? ” 
“ No-o,” said Joe, head down. 

“ Tell me the truth, Joe. I’ll never say a word 
about the eggs.” 

“ Den he is,” said Joe. 


110 


HIS BIG BKOTHEE 


‘‘ So policeman Sullivan prevented you from stealing 
eggs and tried to make your father help your mother,” 
said the Judge. “ He can’t be such a bad policeman 
after all.” 

“ Bad ? ” exclaimed J oe. “ Why, Judge, he’s de best 
cop on de force. He gives Hawkins — dat’s me step- 
f adder — a hell of a heatin’, I hears, and he jumps over- 
board and saves me sister Helen when she falls off de 
dock tryin’ to get a cocoanut.” 

“Well, Joe,” said the Judge, “I think that we can 
manage this stepfather of yours. I shall have him 
brought before me. I am going to send you to a home 
for boys, where you can be cared for properly and be 
educated.” 

“Oh! don’t do dat. Judge, don’t do dat,” begged 
Joe. “ You don’t know Hawkins. I can take care of 
meself all right. Judge. All I wants is a chance to 
woik. Won’t you help me to get me woikin’ papers. 
Judge ? I goes to all de storekeepers and asks for 
woik, and dey all tells me dey can’t hire me till I 
gets me woikin’ papers. I can do de woik. Judge, but 
I can’t get de papers. Won’t you help to get ’em, 
Judge ? If you will, Judge, I can get a reg’lar job, 
and den I can take care of me mudder.” 

“ Joe,” said the Court, dabbing his eyes with a hand- 
kerchief, “ you’re a good boy and I am going to help 
you all I can.” 


THE PEOPLE VS. JOE WAINEIGHT 111 


“ Den you’ll get me de woikin’ papers ? ” 

Joe. But I’ll see that your mother is taken 
care of, and that she has all the eggs she needs and 
other things besides. But I want you to help me all 
you can. Will you ? ” 

“ Sure,” said Joe. 

“ Well, then, Joe, I want you to go to school and 
study hard.” 

Joe’s face fell again, but this time the tears were ab- 
sent. He made no response. 

“ It’s this way, Joe. If you don’t go to school, you 
can never earn much money. If you get an education, 
you can get a job at a good salary. Isn’t it worth 
while ? ” 

“ Ye-es,” replied Joe, but he was evidently far from 
convinced. 

“ I am going to send you to the Society for a few 
days, Joe,” said the Judge, “ while I find out how we 
can best help you.” 

“ An’ me mudder ? ” queried Joe. 

“ I’ll not forget her,” replied the Court. Then he 
turned eagerly to Mr. Everington, saying, “Did you 
ever hear anything so touching ? ” 

Mr. Everington was just stifling a yawn. Plainly 
he was bored. 


CHAPTEK IX 


JOE FINDS A FRIEND AT COURT 

OGETHEK the wealthy lawyer and the Judge 



A left the stuffy little court-room at Eleventh Street 
and Third Avenue. 

“ My wife is using my car this afternoon,” said Mr. 
Everington, “so I cannot offer you a ride. Where 
shall we go to talk over the Ambler will — for it is that 
which brings me to you ? ” 

“ If it’s agreeable to you,” returned Judge Wilmot, 
“ let’s walk. I’d like a little exercise.” 

“ Yery well,” said Mr. Everington. 

He gave the Judge a cigar, lighted one for himself, 
and in a moment the two were sauntering through the 
crowded streets of the great East Side. For an hour 
they discussed the Ambler will. Finally Mr. Evering- 
ton said, “ There is nothing more we can do about it 
until you can come to my office and see the documents 
themselves. When will you come ? ” The Judge 
named a date. 

They walked on in silence for a moment. Their 
ramble had brought them east through Tompkins 
Square, then south into the very heart of the Ghetto. 


112 


JOE FINDS A FEIEND AT COUET 


113 


To the lawyer it was a strange experience. His jour- 
neys in New York consisted mostly in swift flights up 
and down Broadway and Fifth Avenue, or other as- 
phalted thoroughfares, in a luxurious motor-car. This 
great roaring, seething centre of life, where humanity is 
packed together, thousands to the acre, was novel to him. 

He surveyed the towering tenements, rearing their 
reeking walls five, six, seven stories into the air, mak- 
ing of the streets between narrow canyons from which 
the very sun of heaven was excluded. Up the face of 
every tenement zigzagged an iron fire-escape, where, 
contrary to law, bird-cages, bread boxes, flower-pots, 
bottles of milk, babies’ blankets, drying clothes, and 
even mattresses and bedding rested or hung in the 
desperate attempt of the cramped dwellers to enlarge 
their quarters or to find some place where they could 
secure a ray of God’s sunlight— free elsewhere, but here 
to be had only for money and for price. 

He looked at the crowded shops, no larger than the 
tiny living apartments, and jammed from floor to ceil- 
ing, with barely room enough to move about in with- 
out knocking the goods from their resting places. He 
was curiously interested in the articles for sale. Here 
was a great display of condiments — dill pickles and 
mustards and pickled onions and preserved cauliflower 
and chow-chow ; alongside was a brass shop, with its 
curious Turkish and Russian wares — its flaring-lipped 


114 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


pitchers, its branching candlesticks, modeled after 
those in the Jewish tabernacle, its great burnished 
trays, its tinkling chimes, its marvelous lamp-shades, 
scrolled with the alluring tracery of the Orient ; while 
in the next shop mattresses, beds, and thick, padded 
comforts assaulted the eye with their garish colors. 

Here was an electrical supply house, its show-window 
jammed with burglar-alarms — which, heaven knows, 
were needed in the neighborhood — and the latest styles 
in gaudy glass globes. And here was a Jewish wine- 
shop, with curious bottles in the window, and sawdust 
from the floor trailing out on the sidewalk ; and beyond, 
in a darksome cellar, was a bakery, whence issued the 
strange, pungent odor of Hebrew cookery. Next came 
a provision store, its window piled with dry and 
withered flsh — smoked herrings and other bloaters — 
and pyramids of dirty eggs, and canned goods, and 
pickles — always pickles — and bread and prunes, and a 
score of other edibles, thrown together in dirty, dusty 
promiscuity. And farther on Was a butcher shop, 
bearing on its window the three-lettered sign in 
Hebrew that all might know it as a shop of the true 
faith, a kosher shop, where everything was done ac- 
cording as Moses commanded, where the meats and 
poultry were butchered according to the rites of the 
ancient faith, and where fowls still unplucked dangled 
by the necks in the show-window. 


JOE FINDS A FEIEND AT COUET 


115 


The gutters were lined with a solid row of push-carts 
— replicas of the crowded shops with their confusing 
jumble of contents. Here was a vender of fruits, his 
two-wheeled cart held level by a prop at one end, with 
his wares heaped in towering pyramids of orange and 
red. Here was a dealer in women’s stockings and 
underwear, holding out on extended arm samples of 
the bargains piled in his cart behind him. Here stood 
a dealer in perfumes, powders, necklaces, bracelets, 
rings, and other pinchbeck bijoux. Now came a cart 
filled with the products of a bakery — perhaps the one 
just passed — and bulging with the great, round, brown 
loaves that are sold by the slice, with the curious, 
twisted, seed-covered rolls, with little cakes, all foreign 
to the lawyer’s eye, and all distinctive of the Ghetto. 
And here stood a cart with household furnishings, and 
another with dress-goods, bolt upon bolt, and piece 
upon piece, with the loose ends hanging over the edge 
of the cart to attract the eye, and next stood a pickle 
wagon, filled with casks and kegs and buckets, each 
containing some condiment dear to the East Side 
palate. And so on, block after block, the interminable 
lines of carts filled with a million articles, as confused 
and confusing as the babel around them. 

For at every cart the owner was hawking his wares, 
calling their virtues, urging, persuading, pleading with 
pedestrians to buy, holding out samples of his bargains. 


116 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


or chaffering with those who stopped to examine his 
offerings. Small boys and little children by the score, 
the hundred, the thousand, scampered between the 
carts, scurried along the roadway, sprawled on the 
sidewalks, blocked the tenement steps, all shouting, and 
shrieking, and crying, or laughing. Along the side- 
walk flowed the home-coming masses, filling it and 
spilling over into the street, one great, noisy, garrulous, 
polyglot stream, that swept on as unending, as cease- 
less, as irresistible as a crested flood — a human torrent, 
ragged, unwashed, odorous, sweeping on to these foul 
and crowded warrens that only in mockery could be 
called homes. 

And as they walked only disdain and disgust wrote 
themselves upon the lawyer’s countenance. He drew 
away from the passing throng, and shrank from the 
jostling thousands as though they were defiled. No 
sign of pity softened his face, no trace of human kind- 
ness. 

“ Let us get out of this,” he said. “ It is disgusting.” 

“ Mr. Everington,” said the Judge, as they turned 
back toward the accustomed highways of commerce, “ I 
do not ordinarily lay many things to divine interposi- 
tion. But somehow I can’t help feeling that Providence 
sent you into my court to-day. An opportunity has 
been laid directly before you, a chance to save that lit- 
tle Wainright boy. He’s a fine little lad and all he 


JOE FINDS A FEIEND AT COUET 


117 


needs to come through to a fine manhood is the help of 
some older man. He needs a big brother to guide him 
over the rough spots. I want you to be that big 
brother. Will you ? ” 

“I do not understand you,” said Mr. Everington 
coldly. 

“ Don’t you know what a Big Brother is ? ” asked 
the Judge. “Haven’t you heard of the Big Brother 
Movement ? ” 

“ No,” replied the lawyer. “ I am not interested in 
missionary movements.” 

“ This is not a missionary movement,” said the 
Judge. “ A Big Brother does not have to belong to 
any movement or any society. To be a Big Brother 
all you have to do is to take an interest in some unfor- 
tunate child, some one that has no one to look after 
him, and help him along. I don’t mean to give him 
money — that’s the last thing we like to have done — 
but to show the boy you are interested in him, to show 
him that there is some one who cares what becomes of 
him, to advise him, to help him when necessary. There 
aren’t any prescribed duties. All you need to do is to 
do what your heart and your mind tell you is right, see 
the lad occasionally, show him the better side of life, 
encourage him, stimulate his ambition. We have an 
organization called the Big Brother Movement, but 
that is purely for convenience. I don’t ask you to join 


118 


HIS BIG BBOTHEB 


it. But I do want you to be a big brother to little 
Joe. Will you?’’ 

“ I am not interested in that sort of thing,” repeated 
the lawyer. “ Besides I can’t afford it. It would take 
time — and time is money.” 

“ Mr. Everington,” said the Judge, after a pause, “ I 
shall not take that answer as final. You are too big a 
man to mean that. You can afford the time, for you 
are a man of great wealth. Men like you owe much 
to their country. I know of no way you can use your 
talents to better advantage than by helping this little 
boy to help himself. Perhaps some one befriended you 
in time of need, helped you over a rough spot. Kepay 
that debt now. Perhaps you were so fortunately situ- 
ated that you never needed help. Perhaps you had a 
good father. This little lad has no father. He has no 
one in all the world to care for and help him. He has 
come dangerously close to becoming a criminal. He 
stands at the dividing line, and you can help him to be 
a man or let him go — perhaps to live a life like this we 
see around us.” 

“ It sounds very pretty^ sir,” rejoined the lawyer, as 
cold as ever, “ but what would my wife say if I brought 
home a brat like that ? ” 

“ I cannot believe,” returned the Judge, “ but that 
you will feel different when you have thought the mat- 
ter over. The thought still persists that it was more 


JOE FINDS A FEIEND AT COUKT 


119 


than chance that brought you into my court to-day. 
Think it over, Mr. Everington. Here is a lad ready to 
be made into a fine man — a lad, industrious, willing, 
strong, independent. I have seen few boys who im- 
pressed me so favorably. But he needs some one to 
guide him. I shall not finally dispose of his case until 
I hear from you. And I shall be very greatly disap- 
pointed if you fail me.” 


CHAPTER X 


MR. EVERINGTON AND THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE 

W HEN Meredith Everington parted from Judge 
Wilmot, he dismissed for good and all as he 
thought the memory of the dirty little beggar he had 
seen in the court-room, and the Justice’s plea for his 
help. Had it not been for his need of the Judge’s as- 
sistance in the Ambler will case, and his consequent 
fear of offending him, he would have cut short the 
Judge’s effort in behalf of Joe. The thing was pre- 
posterous ! The very idea of his fathering or rather 
big brothering a ragged little street urchin ! To think 
of Meredith Everington, rich, influential, powerful, im- 
maculately dressed, running after a street arab ! Bah, 
the very idea was disgusting. He wondered at himself 
for allowing the Judge to finish his harangue. He dis- 
missed the matter from his mind, bought an evening 
newspaper, called a taxicab, and was soon bowling 
homeward. 

At dinner that evening he told his wife about his 
visit to the East Side — not because he was thinking of 
Joe, but because the incident had been unusual, in fact 
somewhat in the nature of an adventure. The ramble 
X20 


THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE 


121 


east of the Bowery had been to Meredith Everington 
much as a tour of Whitechapel or the slums of Con- 
stantinople is to many another. And as it is the new 
and unusual that leaves the sharpest impress on the 
mind, so now Mr. Everington was able to give to his 
wife a clear picture of the strange scenes he had wit- 
nessed. For accuracy of detail his picture would have 
done credit to a camera. Truly he had a wonderful 
mind. When he had finished his word-painting, he 
added with a laugh, “ And Judge Wilmot asked me to 
play the good Samaritan to a dirty little beggar that 
was brought into court — wanted me to keep an eye on 
him — be a Big Brother he called it— to a ragamuffin.” 

“Well, I hope you didn’t agree to any such silly 
proposal,” said Mrs. Everington haughtily. 

“ I rather think not,” replied the lawyer. “ Meredith 
Everington has something to do in the world besides 
play nurse-maid to a vagabond.” 

“ I should think so,” said his wife coldly, and the 
discussion ended. 

And yet, though Mr. Everington told himself and 
his proud wife that the incident was concluded, the 
thought of Joe would bob up. Bather, like Banquo’s 
ghost, it would not down. For strangely enough first 
one thing and then another tended to keep alive in the 
lawyer’s mind the pitiful picture of Joe and the Judge’s 
plea in his behalf. 


122 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


After dinner that evening Mrs. Everington went off 
to a gathering of some of her women friends. Mr. 
Everington, thus freed from the social duties to which 
his wife almost nightly dragged him, retired to his 
library for an evening of real enjoyment. A fire was 
crackling merrily in the open hearth. He drew up an 
armchair, adjusted the light, produced a pipe — a thing 
tabooed in the presence of his wife — then stretched out 
before the blaze, with his feet on a foot-rest. Here was 
solid comfort. Silently he invoked blessings on that 
evening’s gathering that barred man from its portals. 

Keen of mind, Mr. Everington enjoyed nothing so 
much as a clever story of deduction. He picked up a 
brand-new volume of the “ Tales of Sherlock Holmes.” 
Before he had read a dozen pages, the Baker Street 
irregulars trooped into the narrative — that band of 
street arabs that the great detective was wont to 
employ when all else failed — and before he knew it, 
Mr. Everington’s thoughts wandered from the printed 
sheet before him, and instead of black type on a white 
background he saw a ruddy face peeping out of a great, 
grimy, gray coat, and the tear-filled eyes of Joe beg- 
ging for a chance to work. 

Ko pity stirred the heart of Meredith Everington, 
but a new thought came into his mind — here was 
ability going to waste. Efficiency was Mr. Meredith’s 
hobby. Through his close association with the 


THE VOICE OP CONSCIENCE 


123 


moneyed interests he had been able to bring about in 
steel-mill and manufacturing plant the end of the 
primitive rule of thumb and the substitution of modern 
methods of efficiency. Now, through the agency of 
the Baker Street irregulars, he saw in Joe an economic 
waste— for though Joe’s pitiful story had touched him 
not at all, he had quickly noticed that Joe was acute 
and clever. Now he fell to thinking how Joe’s abilities 
might be used. His quick, incisive brain saw a hun- 
dred ends to which this youth, this unspoiled, virgin 
mind, might be moulded. 

“ But what is all this to me ? ” he suddenly exclaimed 
in irritation, as he realized that his book lay forgotten 
in his lap. 

He read on and on, gripped by tense interest in the 
search for the real criminal the while circumstances 
pointed falsely to an innocent man. Again his book 
rested on his knee, while he pondered o’er the tale. 
His mind went back to his younger days when just such 
a thing had occurred to him. He shuddered to think 
what would have been his fate had the real criminal 
not been discovered. Certainly he would never have 
become the celebrated Meredith Everington that now 
sat reading in his beautiful library. 

In retrospect he reviewed the entire case. If ever 
circumstances pointed to an innocent man, surely they 
had pointed to him. The police had been well enough 


124 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


satisfied that he was the culprit. He remembered how 
hopeless his situation had seemed to him. Then he 
thought of the man who had saved him — one of his 
employers, an elderly man who had refused to have 
him arrested until he had thoroughly satisfied himself 
of his employee’s guilt. He recalled his feeling of 
relief when the real culprit was found. Even now he 
felt an unspeakable debt of gratitude to that old 
employer. Had he not stood faithfully by him, 
Meredith Everington’s career had been blighted at the 
start. Then he fell to wondering why the old man 
had taken such an interest in him. He recalled the 
old man’s simple statement, when he himself was pour- 
ing out his thanks, that he would have done as much 
for any young man, that each of us owed it as a duty 
to God and man to help those younger and less for- 
tunate than ourselves. 

Then there came into his mind the words of Judge 
Wilmot: “Perhaps some one befriended you in time 
of need — helped you over a rough spot. Repay that 
debt now.” Deep in the lawyer’s heart a still, small 
voice began to speak. “ This is the chance to repay 
that debt,” it said. 

“ Bah ! ” growled Mr. Everington aloud. “ I owe 
nothing to anybody. What I have I earned. The 
Judge was right — I am wealthy. But I am going to 
be wealthier. I want more, more. My time is money. 


THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE 


125 


Who is this vagabond that I should give him of my 
time ? The idea is absurd. I will write and tell the 
Judge so.” 

When Meredith Everington rode to his office the next 
day, and for many days thereafter, he noticed what 
previously he had hardly observed, or what, if he had 
observed it, had made no impression on him — the fact 
that the streets were filled with boys, some ragged, 
some well-dressed, some doing one thing, some another, 
but all apparently working for their bread and butter. 
Never before had he realized how many boys in the 
great city have to earn their own living. He saw some 
carrying heavy bundles, some scurrying with messages, 
some blacking boots, some selling papers, some ped- 
dling, some even hunting through the refuse cans for 
crusts of bread. As he looked at one particularly piti- 
ful lad, a little cripple selling newspapers, the words of 
Judge Wilmot again came into his head; “This little 
lad has no father. He has no one in all the world to 
care for and help him. He stands at the dividing 
line.” 

And in the lawyer’s heart a still voice went on, 
“ You can help him to be a man.” 

On the Sabbath Mr. Everington, as was his wont, at- 
tended the fashionable church of which he was one of 
the pillars. He listened to the well-paid choir render 
with faultless technique an anthem that was a marvel 


126 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


of vocal gymnastics. Then, well-satisfied, he settled 
himself in his seat for his accustomed nap. The morn- 
ing’s lesson was read, and as the great lawyer dozed off, 
the minister was just announcing his text : “ I have you 
on my heart.” When next Mr. Everington opened his 
eyes, the sermon was just ending. “In this simple 
sentence,” the pastor was saying, “ we have the essence 
of Christianity. ‘ I have you on my heart.’ The world 
is too big for any of us to father it. Only the divine 
heart is great enough for that. But each of us can find, 
right at our door, some one to love and protect, to guide 
and assist. Perhaps it is some friend or business ac- 
quaintance, perhaps some relative. Best of all, it may 
be some child, whose life will be made or marred ac- 
cording as we do our duty or fail in it. God has a 
marvelous way of throwing these helpless ones in our 
path — and who can doubt that when one of these little 
ones is led to our door it is the call of God. If any 
such come in your pathway, do not be false to your 
duty. God put them there. He wants you to have 
them on your heart.” 


CHAPTEE XT 


JOE AND HIS BIG BROTHER EVERINGTON 

“ 1 ?LISE,” said Mr. Everington to his wife at break- 

-L' fast one morning, taking refuge the while be- 
hind his newspaper, “ I think I’ve found a good caddie at 
last. It’s that youngster Judge Wilmot told me about.” 

There was a long and ominous silence. Mrs. Ever- 
ington was looking sternly toward her husband, wait- 
ing for the newspaper to come down. It was not 
lowered. When she could contain herself no longer, 
Mrs. Everington burst out, “ I expected something of 
this sort. You’re fool enough to do anything.” 

“ But, Elise,” protested her husband, now laying aside 
his paper, and apparently girding himself for a strug- 
gle, “there is surely nothing reprehensible in giving 
employment to a needy little boy. He’ll make an ideal 
caddie. He’s quick, sharp-eyed, and clever. And those 
caddies at the club are such lazy, dishonest whelps ! 
Why, I lose balls by the dozen just because they’re too 
shiftless to find them, or rather to find them for any- 
body but themselves.” 

“ It’s likely that a beggar from the streets will be 
honest ! ” sneered Mrs. Everington. 

127 


128 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


“Elise,” said Mr. Everington, “ this little youngster 
all alone has been trying to provide eggs for his tuber- 
cular mother, and when he was caught robbing an egg 
pier ” 

“ What did I tell you ? ” broke in Mrs. Everington. 
“ Of course he’s a thief.” 

“ And when he was caught robbing an egg pier,” 
continued the lawyer, ignoring the interruption, “ he 
promised the policeman who got him that he’d never 
steal any more, and he has kept his word. A lad that 
has that sort of moral courage will not steal from a 
friend who is trying to help him along.” 

“ I was waiting for you to say that,” replied Mrs. 
Everington sharply. “ Now you have shown your true 
colors. Your hiring of the lad as a caddie is only a 
pretext. You intend to do just what Judge Wilmot 
asked you to do. I never saw anything like you men. 
Talk about women not knowing their own minds. 
Why, anybody can twist you around their little finger. 
I wish I had hold of that Judge for a minute. I’d give 
him a piece of my mind.” 

“Well, Elise,” said Mr. Everington with firmness, 
“ I’ve no doubt that you have twisted me around your 
little finger lots of times, but you are not going to do it 
this time. I have made up my mind to help that boy.” 

Mrs. Everington saw that she had taken a wrong 
tack. “You never seem to realize that when I dis- 


JOE AND HIS BIG BEOTHER EVERINGTON 129 


agree with you I am thinking only of your own good,” 
she said. “ What will the men at your club say, what 
will our friends think, when they learn that Meredith 
Everington has turned missionary and begun to run 
after ragamuffins and street arabs ? ” 

“ Elise,” said the lawyer after a pregnant pause, 
“ that will do. I am going to look after this child.” 
Mrs. Everington saw that she had made a mistake 
and interrupted. Her husband silenced her with a 
gesture. “ And when I bring that lad into this house, 
you will treat him poUtely.” 

The die was cast. Mrs. Everington, by her very 
opposition, had driven her husband to a position that 
five minutes earlier he had not dreamed of holding. 
He had decided to compromise with conscience by 
hiring Joe as a caddie. But he had not intended to 
go farther. And to bring the child into his own home 
was the very last thing he would have thought of doing. 
But nothing in the world was so powerful a spur to 
Meredith Everington as opposition. Success had created 
the habit, the craving, for success. The minute Mere- 
dith Everington found he could not get a thing, that 
minute he wanted it. 

Despite his overbearing attitude Mr. Everington was 
very fond of his wife, and this fondness was recipro- 
cated. Now, as he lighted his cigar, before going to 
his office, Mr. Everington said gently, “ I hope I didn’t 


130 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


hurt your feelings, Elise. I didn’t mean to, but I feel 
strongly about this matter.” 

Mrs. Everington was ever as steel to his flint, but 
never could she withstand gentleness. Instead of mak- 
ing a sharp retort, she smilingly dismissed the matter. 
“ Whenever are you going to stop smoking ? ” she asked 
by way of changing the subject. Then both laughed 
for the question was an old one between them. 

During the forenoon Mr. Everington telephoned to 
Judge Wilmot that he would become Joe’s Big Brother. 

“ What shall I have to do ? ” he asked. “ You know 
about such things. What would you advise me to do 
first ? ” 

“ You’ll have to get acquainted with the lad first. 
Come to my court this afternoon and I’ll have Joe 
here. You must first of all get his confidence. Farther 
than that I can hardly teU you, except to say that only 
as a last resort do we wish to have money given to 
children. It is so likely to give them an impulse 
toward beggary. But you can see that he finds enough 
to do to keep him fed and out of mischief, and you can 
inspire him to try for something better in life. Take 
him to an entertainment occasionally, or to a good 
show. Let him see how people ought to live. Take 
him to yotir own home once in a while.” 

At that the man at the other end of the wire winced, 
but the reply came back firmly, “ I will. Judge.” 


JOE AND HIS BIG BEOTHEE EVEEINGTON 131 

“ Before I ring off,” concluded His Honor, “ let me 
thank you for coming to this decision. I felt sure you 
would. You’ll never regret it. It will mean as much 
to you before long as it does to Joe. I shall expect you 
at four. Good-bye.” 

And so it came about that Meredith Everington be- 
came, at least officially. Big Brother to little Joe. But 
becoming a big brother in reality, as well as in name, 
Mr. Everington found to be quite another matter. It 
takes two to make a bargain. And Joe was anything 
but a Barkis. He was not “ willin’.” 

For when Judge Wilmot, in the privacy of his 
chambers, informed Joe that Mr. Everington was to 
be his Big Brother, Joe’s countenance darkened. 

“ What d’ye mean by a Big Brother ? ” he asked 
suspiciously. 

“ Why, a man who will take an interest in you, and 
sort of look after you — just as you look after your 
crippled brother,” explained the Judge. 

“ Do youse mean de guy wat sat on de bench wit’ 
you when de cop brought me here last week?” de- 
manded Joe. 

“ Yes, Joe,” said the Judge. “ That gentleman was 
Mr. Meredith Everington, a very celebrated lawyer, 
and a very wealthy man. He felt so sorry for you 
that he wants to help you along.” 

“ Nix,” replied Joe. “ He laughed when I told you 


132 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


about me mudder, Judge. He don’t care nuttin’ about 
me.” And then, after a pause, “ Say, Judge, wat’s his 
game, anyway ? What’s he after ? ” 

In vain did the Judge try to shake Joe’s conviction 
that the lawyer had some ulterior motive in befriend- 
ing him. Joe’s hard experience of the world told him 
that self-interest is the ruling passion of the universe. 
Had the Judge told Joe that Mr. Everington, by be- 
friending Joe, hoped for some good to himself, Joe 
could have understood the situation readily enough. 
But he had watched the cold, hard, unsympathetic 
face of the lawyer, studying it as he studied the 
Judge’s, the while he poured out his tale of his 
mother ; and he had seen there, not merely a lack of 
pity, but an expression little different from a sneer. 
With the instinct of childhood he felt that there was 
no kindness in the man. 

That people should pity him Joe neither asked nor 
desired. But that any one should be indifferent to 
the sufferings of his mother seemed incredible to Joe. 
It filled him with fierce resentment. And he stamped 
the guilty one as a person beyond the pale. 

Of Mr. Everington’s change of heart, Joe of course 
knew nothing. Conversion was as yet a word un- 
known to Joe. So it was natural enough that he 
should regard his newly found Big Brother not merely 
with disfavor, but with positive suspicion. 


JOE AND HIS BIG BROTHEB EVERINGTON 133 


“ I don’t want nuttin’ to do with him, Judge,” he 
told His Honour. And when Judge Wilmot assured 
Joe that Mr. Everington’s intentions were of the kind- 
est and that the lawyer had told him of his wish to 
help, Joe exclaimed, “ He ain’t on de level wit’ you. 
Judge. Youse want to look out for him. He’s after 
something.” 

His Honor was in a quandary. Whatever would 
Mr. Everington do, after he had been so hard to per- 
suade, if Joe treated him rudely ? 

“Joe,” said the Judge, “you believe I am your 
friend, don’t you ? ” 

“ Sure,” replied Joe. “ You treated me white and 
you didn’t laugh at me mudder.” 

“ And you know that I am trying to help you, J oe, 
don’t you ? ” 

“ Sure,” said Joe. 

“ Then listen to me, Joe. Mr. Everington is going 
to help you because I asked him to. If you are rude 
to him, you will hurt me, because he is my friend. I 
want you to be polite to him — for my sake. Will 
you ? ” 

“ Sure,” said Joe. “ But I don’t want him for a big 
brother.” 

“ Well, Joe, you see I’ve asked him to be your big 
brother. Now I can’t tell him I don’t want him, can 
I ? You try him for a month, and if at the end of that 


184 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


time you don’t like him, we’ll end the arrangement.” 
Joe agreed dubiously. “And remember this, Joe,” 
concluded His Honor, “ Mr. Everington can help you 
get a good job just as soon as you get your working 
papers. He can do a great deal more for you than I 
can.” 

So it came about that when Meredith Everington 
was made acquainted with Joe, the latter treated him 
with a mixture of politeness and disdain that puzzled 
the lawyer sorely. Instead of the frank, ingenuous 
little lad he had seen in the court-room, Mr. Evering- 
ton found he was dealing with a sharp, suspicious, 
watchful, though diminutive, man of the world. Joe 
was pohte enough — after his own crude fashion. In 
fact his politeness, like armor of triple bronze, was his 
shield from intrigue and device. He kept the lawyer, 
figuratively speaking, at arm’s length with icy reserve. 
Nowhere was there an opening in his armor of cold ret- 
icence. The plan Mr. Everington had formed in his 
own mind for winning Joe’s confidence went a-glim- 
mering. For the lawyer had counted on dealing with 
a wistful little boy, whereas he found himself fencing 
with a sophisticated little man of the world. So he 
got nowhere. 

His Honor had decided that the best disposition of 
Joe’s case would be to put the lad in school, if possible, 
and let him sell papers after school hours. He had de- 


JOE AND HIS BIG BEOTHEE EVEEINGTON 135 


cided, moreover, after his investigator had reported as 
to conditions aboard the Mattie Ford^ that for a time 
at least he would not send Joe back to the coal barge, 
but let him live at the Lurie. Conditions were whole- 
some there, and he believed that a lad with Joe’s spirit 
would come out best if allowed his freedom, though the 
Judge meant, of course, to have that freedom closely 
supervised. Paid officials could do that, but the work 
of inspiring, encouraging, assisting Joe must be done 
by some one else. In the Judge’s plan for Joe Mr. 
Everington played a big part. He had promised that 
the Big Brother arrangement should end in a month if 
not agreeable only because he believed that long before 
that time Mr. Everington would win the boy’s confi- 
dence and gain his love. 

Even so his plan well-nigh miscarried. His Honor 
obtained from the Board of Education permission to 
send Joe to a part-time school near his accustomed 
haunts. Mr. Everington went with Joe one morning 
to this school, called upon principal and teacher, and 
explained Joe’s case in detail, bespeaking for the lad 
the utmost consideration. He went to the Lurie, where 
little was known of Joe except that he was a newsboy, 
and set forth the lad’s case to the superintendent. 

u 'WTe’re going to try to let him support himself if he 
can do it,” said Mr. Everington, “ but we don’t want 
him to sleep in hallways or on roofs any more. If he 


136 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


does not earn enough to pay for his board, I will be re- 
sponsible for it. So keep his bed for him. And, by 
the way, you had better tell him that he is to come 
here every night, whether he has the price or not. Tell 
him if he does not have the money he can pay later. 
If he can’t earn it, I will make it good.” 

And with Joe he went to the Board of Health and 
obtained the precious permit to sell papers. By this 
time Mr. Everington was beginning to feel a real inter- 
est in Joe. In fact his interest was so keen that when 
it occurred to him that he had spent an entire half day 
on these errands, he merely smiled. 

Despite all these kindnesses, and the frequency with 
which he had seen Joe, his plans had well-nigh been 
wrecked, had it not been for a happy accident that put 
him on better terms with Joe. For so far the lad had 
maintained his attitude of distant politeness that ren- 
dered anything like intimacy an absolute impossibility. 
At first this attitude offended Mr. Everington greatly. 
It angered him to think that this child, of the gutter 
should not instantly bow to the will of the great Mere- 
dith Everington. Then, as the resistance continued, it 
piqued him. True to his nature, he determined to force 
the lad to like him. And finally, as he saw more of 
Joe and discovered what a really lovable lad he was, 
he grew fond of him. And now his desire to win Joe’s 
confidence was based purely upon his affection for the 


JOE AND HIS BIG BEOTHEE EVEEINGTON 137 


lad. But throughout it all, Joe was determinedly dis- 
tant. In the background of his memory was the sneer 
at his mother. 

So it went until one afternoon, moved by thoughts 
of Joe, Mr. Everington dismissed his chauffeur and 
walked up-town. But instead of going straight home, 
he bent his footsteps toward the great ferry where he 
knew Joe would be plying his trade. 

As he approached the plaza, Mr. Everington glanced 
up Eleventh Avenue, his attention attracted by the 
sound of shrill voices and a knot of small boys. He 
walked toward the group, but stopped a few feet away 
to see what was passing. Hone of the group paid any 
attention to him. From the centre of the ring of boys 
a high, frightened voice was begging some one for 
protection. 

“ Don’t let him hit me,” shrilled the voice pleadingly. 

“ I won’t,” came the answer. “ I’ll knock his block 
off.” And the same voice went on angrily, “ You big 
stiff, what do youse mean by hittin’ a cripple ? You’re 
a big bully, you are, and if you touch him again I’ll 
bust youse in de slats.” 

The voice sounded familiar to Mr. Everington. He 
moved toward the circle to see who were quarreling. 
As he did so there was a scuffling sound, the encircling 
line swayed back, and Mr. Everington saw within the 
figure of little Joe, standing over his prostrate crippled 


138 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


brother and fighting like a fury with a boy half a head 
taller than himself. Mr. Everington comprehended the 
situation at a glance. Joe was defending his brother 
•from persecution. And inasmuch as Joe was having 
altogether the better of the scrap, Mr. Everington re- 
solved to let them fight it out. 

But before the battle had raged two minutes, a cry 
went up from some vigilant-eyed young spectator. 
“Cheese it! De cop!” As though by magic the 
group melted away. Before Mr. Everington could even 
call out, Joe and his late antagonist were racing up the 
street, side by side, their fierce hatred forgotten in the 
fear of that common enemy, “ de cop.” As the princi- 
pals in the affray, they knew that they would be the 
sufferers if apprehended. The bluecoat had approached 
unseen near enough to detect the culprits; and he 
rushed up the avenue after Joe and his fellow fugitive. 
The inevitable happened. The larger boy outran Joe, 
and soon the latter was in the hands of the law. 

Mr. Everington followed the chase briskly, and he 
came up while Joe was still writhing in the first grip 
of his captor. Joe could hardly have been more aston- 
ished had an angel from heaven appeared. 

“ Won’t you make him let me go ? ” pleaded Joe. 
“I ain’t done nuttin’. Honest I ain’t. I was only 
fightin’ for me brudder wat’s crippled.” 

“ He speaks the truth, officer,” said Mr. Everington. 


JOE AND HIS BIG BROTHER EVERINGTON 139 


“ This lad is not to blame for the disturbance. If any- 
body is, I am. They were fighting when I came up, 
and I suppose I should have stopped the fight, but as 
he was fighting with a bully, I didn’t. Let him go, 
officer. I assure \^ou he is not to blame.” 

“ And who are you, to be tellin’ me what to do ? ” 
inquired the policeman with sharp sarcasm. “ You’d 
better be about your business before I run you in, too.” 

Meredith Everington was not accustomed to be 
spoken to thus. His eyes shot sparks as he replied, 
“ It is my business to see that this boy gets a square 
deal. I tell you he is not at fault, and I advise you to 
let him go.” 

He stepped toward Joe. The policeman miscon- 
strued the act. All the stubbornness within him was 
aroused. 

“ Hands off, there,” he roared. “ You lay a finger 
on that boy and I’ll arrest you for interfering with an 
officer. In fact I’ll do it anyway.” And he grabbed 
the lawyer by the shoulder. 

For one second it looked as though Mr. Everington 
were about to strike. And if the tail, lean, powerful 
lawyer had done so, it might have gone hard with the 
policeman. But he restrained himself. 

“ Take your hand off of me,” he ordered. “ I’ll go 
to the station-house with you without making any 
trouble.” 


140 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


The policeman let his hand fall from the lawyer’s 
shoulder. But perhaps the cold, steely eyes before 
him had quite as much to do with it as any sudden 
accession of sense. 

At the station-house the policeman arraigned his 
two prisoners before the desk. 

“ I arrested the kid for fightin’ on the street and the 
big fellow for interfering with me in the performance 
of my duty,” said the policeman. 

The lieutenant at the desk surveyed Joe and his fel- 
low prisoner. He comprehended the situation in an 
instant. Many such cases had come before him in his 
twenty years of service. 

“Well, well!” he said. “How much did he inter- 
fere with you, officer ? ” Evidently he knew the nature 
of hot-headed young policemen. 

“ He tried to make me let the prisoner go,” replied the 
policeman. “ Said the boy wasn’t at fault and the like.” 

“ Did you learn whether he was at fault before you 
brought him here ? ” demanded the lieutenant. And 
without waiting for a reply, the man behind the desk 
turned to Mr. Everington. “ What is your name, sir ? ” 
he asked. 

Mr. Everington drew forth a card and handed it to 
the lieutenant. The effect was remarkable. 

“ Please tell me what you know about this case, Mr. 
Everington,” he said with marked deference. 


JOE AND HIS BIG BROTHER EVERINGTON 141 


The lawyer briefly told what had happened. 

“ You are discharged with an apology, sir,” said the 
lieutenant, “ and the lad with you. Do you wish to 
make any charge against this policeman ? ” 

The policeman was thunderstruck. “ No,” said 
Mr. Everington. “ I am obliged to you, lieutenant. 
Good-day,” and taking Joe by the hand, he walked out. 

No sooner had the door closed than the lieutenant 
burst out in a rage at the offending policeman, “ Look 
at that card, you fool ! That man’s one of the most 
powerful lawyers in New York. He could have you or 
me broke in a minute. Next time you go to arresting 
respectable citizens you’d better do a little thinking 
first — if there’s any brains in that block on your 
shoulders.” 

As for Joe, he could not find words to express his 
gratitude. He had not heard the lieutenant’s scathing 
rebuke to the policeman. He did not comprehend the 
efficacy of the bit of pasteboard Mr. Everington had 
shoved across the desk. But he did understand that his 
Big Brother had risked arrest to help him. He walked 
on in silence for a time. 

‘‘ Mr. Everington ? ” he finally piped faintly. 

“ Well, Joe, what is it ? ” 

“I ain’t treated you white,” said Joe. 

“ What do you mean, Joe ? ” 

Why, you got me de permit and de place in school. 


142 HIS BIG BROTHEE 

and now you gets arrested for me, an’ — an’ — I done you 
dirt.” 

“I don’t understand, Joe.” 

“You was me big brudder,” replied Joe, “but I 
didn’t treat you like one, and I wants you to — to ” 

“ To what, Joe ? ” 

“ To fergit it,” said Joe, and the tears began to well 
up in his eyes. 

“ You mean that you want to let bygones be by- 
gones ? ” asked the lawyer. 

“ Hat’s it,” answered Joe. “ I didn’t tink you meant 
it. But now I know you is me big brudder. Shake.” 

Thus was the bond of friendship cemented between 
little Joe and his friend the great lawyer. 


CHAPTER XII 

MR. EVERINGTON MEETS JOE’S FAMILY 

H ad Joe presented the same unsightly appearance 
that he did the day Mr. Everington first saw 
him, it is doubtful if the lawyer, even with all the 
kindly interest he now felt in the lad, would long have 
been seen on the streets with him this afternoon. 
But Joe was now a very different little boy — at least 
in appearance ; Judge Wilmot knew that it would never 
do to let Joe begin school in the outlandish garments 
he was wearing when arrested, lest the children make 
sport of him and Joe find himself again in trouble 
through a natural resentment of their persecution. 
Upon His Honor’s suggestion, therefore, Mr. Evering- 
ton himself had supplied the clothes that Joe now wore 
— a warm, good-looking suit of brown wool, thick 
stockings, and stout, new shoes, with clean under- 
clothes, shirt, and cap to boot. The cost was to Mr. 
Everington a mere bagatelle, but to Joe it was a gift of 
the gods. And as even this proof of interest had not 
moved Joe from his determined aloofness toward his 
Big Brother, the strength of his moral fibre can be the 
better appreciated. He was beyond purchase. Now 
143 


144 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


he looked as bright and attractive as a lad could be, 
and Mr. Everington not only was not ashamed to walk 
beside him, but he could not help feeling deep in his 
heart a wish that he had as attractive a lad of his own 
— for the Everington family consisted of but two souls. 

Hand in hand Big Brother and little retraced their 
steps to the scene of the recent disturbance, but Henry 
was nowhere in sight. Like every other child of the 
streets, his heart was filled with an insensate fear of 
“ de cops,” and he had scuttled away on his crutches 
like a great crab, to hide until the storm blew over. 
For ten minutes they searched for him, but Henry was 
to be found at none of his accustomed haunts. 

Mr. Everington was not sorry. He now had the op- 
portunity he had been waiting for — a chance to go 
with Joe to visit the Mattie Ford. Mr. Everington, of 
course, had no idea of taking Charles Hawkins’ entire 
family under his wing. He felt little interest in them, 
but he had grown very curious about their manner of 
existence. He wanted to see how people lived on a 
coal barge. In a cold way he felt sympathy for them. 
But that sympathy was as yet purely theoretic. It 
had not been quickened into life by actual contact, by 
ocular proof of their miseries. Ever since he took Joe 
in hand he had been wanting to see wtat a coal barge 
was like— to visit the Mattie Ford. But Mr. Evering- 
ton had been waiting to make that visit until he should 


MR. EVERINGTOK MEETS JOE’S FAMILY 146 


have gained Joe’s confidence. He knew not how he 
would be received, and he was still too little at home 
with people of Joe’s class to feel sure of a kind recep- 
tion. But he knew that if Joe were his partisan, Joe’s 
mother would welcome him. So he had wisely bided 
his time. 

Joe, of course, had already informed his mother of 
his altered fortunes, though he had done little more 
than mention his Big Brother. He could not tell his 
mother about him without revealing the fact of his 
dislike for the man, and eventually the reason for his 
dislike. Joe knew that this would come out, and he 
was so sure it would hurt his mother, that he avoided 
the danger by ignoring Mr. Everington and crediting 
all his benefactions to the good Judge. 

How that Mr. Everington had Joe’s confidence, he 
felt that the time had come to see the mother. He 
knew that this was the psychological moment, while 
Joe was still so full of gratitude and contrition. So he 
merely said to Joe, when Henry was not to be found, 
“We’ll go down to the Mattie Ford and see your 
mother.” And Joe gladly acquiesced. 

As they turned south along the water-front the 
lawyer experienced a new sensation. A positive thrill 
of pleasurable excitement shot through him. All his 
life he had been too busy peering within the covers of 
books to get acquainted with people — at least with 


146 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


people outside of his own exclusive set. He had 
learned marvelous things in the past fortnight. In- 
distinctly he was beginning to understand that there 
were more things in heaven and earth than he had 
dreamed of in his narrow philosophy. He had made the 
discovery, so startling to all those of a superior breed, 
that the men and women who do the world’s work are 
human beings, just like themselves. He was beginning 
to like these hitherto unknown creatures, these coarse 
and grimy sons of toil, these sweating, blackened 
workers. For underneath their displeasing exterior 
was a genuineness and simplicity that was not to be 
found under the veneer of Mr. Everington’s highly 
polished associates. For Meredith Everington was at 
heart too much of a man not to respond to the touch 
of genuineness. However much his success had warped 
him, that success, like all real success, had had its 
foundation in genuine manhood. 

Fortune was with them. Hawkins was absent — 
doubtless at Mr. Kelley’s — and mother and daughter 
were alone on the Mattie Ford. For some moments 
before boarding that craft, Mr. Everington gazed about 
him. He saw the high, blank walls of the pier sheds 
to right and left, the unsightly coal shed to landward, 
with only the opening toward the river where one 
might look out. The foul odor of the dump assailed 
his nostrils. His ears were assaulted by the shrieking 


ME. EVEEINGTON MEETS JOE’S FAMILY 147 

of the hoisting engine and the never ending rattle of 
coal, the incessant tooting of whistles, and the roar of 
the water-front traffic. 

“ God ! what a place to live,” he muttered to him- 
self. Then he and Joe entered the cabin. 

Little Joe made the introductions. “ Dis is me big 
brudder,” he said, “ an’ dis is me mudder an’ me sister 
Helen.” 

Mrs. Hawkins was dumbfounded. She looked at 
Joe in complete perplexity. She had never heard of 
the Big Brothers. The lawyer came to the rescue. 

“ Let me explain, Mrs. Hawkins,” he said, shaking 
her hand so cordially that at once she began to feel at 
home with him. “ My name is Everington. I was in 
court when Joe was arrested for selling papers without 
a permit. Joe told us all about his home and his — his 
— about Mr. Hawkins — and as the Judge thought some 
one ought to look after Joe a little, he asked me to do 
it. Joe means that I am keeping my eye on him a 
bit. Isn’t that it, Joe ?” 

“ But I do not understand what you mean by a Big 
Brother, Joe,” said Mrs. Hawkins. 

“ That is only a name, Mrs. Hawkins,” explained the 
lawyer. “ You know some of us who — who have a 
little time to spare — want to — to help some of these 
less fortunate boys along, and so we — we sort of look 
after them as though they were our little brothers. 


148 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


That’s why they call us Big Brothers.” Mr. Evering- 
ton was having almost as hard a time to explain this 
new thing in his life as Mrs. Hawkins was to under- 
stand it. 

“ Sure, he’s me big brudder,” spoke up Joe. “ He 
gets pinched hisself tryin’ to save me from de cops, 
and he gets me de permit to sell papers, and he gets 
me de place in school, and he buys me de clothes, 
and ” 

Mrs. Hawkins, who had supposed that all these 
things came from the Judge, was dumb with amaze- 
ment. Instinctively the lawyer grasped the situation. 

“ Hold on there, Joe,” he interrupted. “ You owe 
those things to the good Judge. I may have gotten 
them for you, but I am only his agent.” 

A light broke over Mrs. Hawkins’ face. Oh ! ” she 
said, “ you’re another of them probation officers.” 

“ Well, not exactly,” rejoined the lawyer, flushing in 
spite of himself, “ but we’ll let it rest there if you like. 
I am not connected with the court, but the Judge 
asked me to look after Joe a little, so it’s almost the 
same thing after all.” 

Now followed a long talk that put them all on an 
excellent footing. The unsightly surroundings, the 
wretched little cabin, the scanty garments, the pinched 
faces of these river dwellers went straight to Mr. 
Everington’s heart. He was sympathy itself. He ex- 


MR EVERINGTON MEETS JOE’S FAMILY 149 


erted those great powers, by which at will he held able 
men spellbound, to put at ease these humble dwellers 
on a coal barge. Tactfully and kindly he drew from 
the mother the story of her life, of the happier days 
that had been, of the trying times that followed Mr. 
Wainright’s death, of the evils that had befallen them 
through her weakness in marrying Hawkins, for the 
good woman spared herself not at all, and of the new 
hope that had come to them of something better when 
Joe should be old enough to make a home for them. 

What a pitifully slender hope it was, a hope whose 
fruition rested solely and alone upon the success of a 
small boy of twelve years, who was fighting against 
terrific odds, who was daily growing toward a period 
of ever greater temptation, whose very surroundings, 
whose every associate, tended to drag him down into 
the mire — a little lad of twelve years who had a hun- 
dred acquaintances to pull him down and not one to 
lift him up — not one save his Big Brother. 

As the great lawyer comprehended it all — the life of 
misery, the fear and hunger and want, the dread of the 
future, made endurable solely by this slender thread of 
hope, his heart was touched as nothing in all his life 
had touched it, and he resolved with a decision that 
was almost fierce that Joe should not fail them. Then 
and there Meredith Everington pledged himself to the 
fulfillment of the task Judge Wilmot had put upon him. 


150 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


His practical mind at once turned to means of relief 
for these sufferers. Instinctively his hand went to his 
pocket. That was the easiest way. But Judge Wilmot 
had warned him of its dangers. “ Whatever you do,” 
the Judge had said to him, “ beware of pauperizing 
those whom you try to assist. Keep alive the spark 
of self-respect. That is the only way you can really 
help.” This time he must give of himself, not of his 
money. He could not salve his conscience by drop- 
ping a greenback in the collection basket. Kor, be it 
said to his credit, did Mr. Everington this time desire 
to do so. He saw at once that Mrs. Hawkins, in her 
weak, sickly condition, could do nothing. During the 
months since Joe had run away, she had more than 
held her own, but she was still pale and weak, and still 
her body was wracked by coughing spells. Clearly 
she should be in a hospital, and Mr. Everington de- 
cided to bring that about at once. The sole obstacle 
in the way was the possible refusal of Hawkins to give 
his consent. 

Then there was Helen. She was now more than 
fifteen years old, practically full-grown, strong, vig- 
orous, self-reliant, and not only willing but eager to 
work. Moreover, as Mr. Everington soon discovered, 
she was an amazingly good needlewoman, having a 
natural gift in the planning and making of articles 
with thread and needle. Here was clearly an asset 


ME. EVEEINGTON MEETS JOE’S FAMILY 161 


that was available the instant Mrs. Hawkins could go 
to a hospital — for Helen did not like to leave her sickly 
mother unprotected in this rough neighborhood, and 
alone with her drunken father. 

Before going home, Mr. Everington determined to 
get acquainted with Hawkins. He told Joe to stay 
with his mother and sister while he slipped across the 
‘^farm” to Kelley’s. There he found Hawkins— at 
least he found a man so closely answering to Joe’s de- 
scription that he was sure it was Hawkins. Mr. Ever- 
ington ordered a glass of beer and sat down at a table 
near the stranger, to sip it. Presently he engaged the 
man in conversation, and Haw’kins — for it was he — 
scenting a free drink from the well-dressed visitor, 
made himself agreeable. 

From a discussion of the weather, Mr. Everington 
turned the talk into other channels. 

“ Mostly sea-folk and men who work on the ships 
hang out here, I suppose,” he said, adopting the ver- 
nacular of the region. 

“ Yep, all seafarin’ men,” answered Hawkins. 

“You look as though you might be an old sea-dog 
yourself,” said the lawyer heartily. 

Hawkins swelled with pride. “I used to be,” he 
said. “ When I was young I sailed on the best ships 
that left this port. Them was the days. But there 
ain’t no sailin’ ships left no more, to speak of. The 


152 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


steamships has put ’em out of business, and there ain’t 
nothin’ left for an old sea-dog like myself but to take 
care of some old hulk of a coal boat. It’s a rum way 
of livin’, Cap’n.” 

Hawkins’ tale was not wholly fiction. As a young 
man he had sailed on the last of the big sailing craft 
that plied regularly between l!^ew York and certain 
coast ports. But it was not steam but John Barley- 
corn that had put him out of the running. Mr. Ever- 
ington saw it aU. In this little flash of pride, Hawkins 
had told far more than he had meant to reveal. Asa 
sailor he had been able enough, and at heart he was 
still far from being a bad man, but drink had so broken 
his resolution, so weakened his moral fibre, so dulled 
and besotted his brain, that now he was of more harm 
than good in the world. 

“ He’s past hope,” was Mr. Everington’s mental ap- 
praisement of the wreck that had been Charles Hawkins. 
“ He could never cut loose from booze.” 

Mr. Everington bought him a cigar — a good one, 
too — with the result that the barge captain stuck to 
his heels, like a stray dog following one who has 
caressed it, so that the lawyer was put to it to get 
free from him in order to return to the Mattie Ford. 
He had had to listen to a lot of maudlin chatter, but 
the result was worth it. He had Hawkins’ good-will. 


CHAPTER XIII 


BIG BEOTHEE AND GOOD SAMAEITAN BOTH 

I T was characteristic of Mr. Everington that he did 
not quarrel with fate when he found himself sad- 
dled with the burden of caring for the entire Hawkins 
family. He did make a grimace as he realized how 
deeply enmeshed he was becoming ; but somehow he 
could not feel angry about it. His mind told him he 
was a fool, but the glad feeling in his heart, growing 
daily, outweighed that troublesome conviction. Some- 
how he couldn’t help feeling, though in a vague un- 
certain way, that this present task was worth more to 
him and the world than half the cases he had argued. 
Having put his hand to the plough, he was not the 
man to turn back. That was not Meredith Evering- 
ton’s manner of life. 

The very next morning he telephoned to the Com- 
missioner of Charities, whom he knew well. 

“ There’s a poor woman with the consumption, living 
on a coal barge at the foot of Barrow Street,” he said, 
“ whom I should like to send to a hospital for out- 
patient treatment for a time.” 

“Very well, Mr. Everington,” replied the Cona- 
153 


154 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


missioner; “suppose you send her to the House of 
Relief — you probably know it as the Hudson Street 
Hospital — and they will take care of her very nicely.’’ 

“ That’s exactly what I want done. But I want to 
make certain it is done.” 

“ You may be sure they’ll take care of her.” 

“ I am sure that a word from you will make that 
certain.” 

“ Oh ! that isn’t necessary at all, Mr. Everington.” 

“ Perhaps not, Commissioner, but I have a particular 
interest in this woman, and I’m going to ask you to 
send me a letter of introduction for her to your 
hospital superintendent. Her name is Mrs. Charles 
Hawkins. Please impress it upon him that this 
woman must have the best care the institution can 
give her. And let me have the letter at once.” Thus 
Mr. Everington, as was his wont, gained his end. 
“ And by the way,” he added, as he was about to 
hang up the receiver, “ I shall soon want to place this 
woman in the best hospital you have at your disposal 
for tubercular patients.” 

“ That will be the Seton Hospital at In wood,” was 
the reply. 

“ Then please bear this in mind. Commissioner, and 
let me know when you have a vacant bed there.” 

Thus it was arranged, and thus was guaranteed to 
Mrs. Hawkins what many another of the city’s poor 


BIG BEOTHEE AND GOOD SAMAEITAN 155 


might have begged for in vain. Thus potent was the 
name of Everington. 

No sooner had he disposed of this matter than Mr. 
Everington got into communication with an intimate 
acquaintance of his who was president of a corporation 
that manufactured women’s clothing. 

“ Fred,” said Mr. Everington over the wire, “ have 
you got a job for a girl of fifteen ? ” 

“ Sorry, Meredith,” was the reply, “ but we have all 
the hands we can use. Business is dull now, and I’m 
trying to find some way to keep all my hands busy. 
I don’t like to discharge them if I can help it.” 

“That’s too bad,” said Mr. Everington. “I ran 
across a girl yesterday that is a wonder with a needle. 
She can make anything — take a torn handkerchief and 
turn it into a handsome gown, and so on. You know 
the kind — born with a needle in her fingers.” 

“ Well, if she’s got brains, maybe I can use her. 
We’ve always got room for people with brains. Send 
her over to me. I’ll see what she can do.” 

“ Well, she can’t go to work just yet,” said Mr. Ever- 
ington, “ because she has to take care of her sick mother. 
But I’m going to send the mother to a hospital shortly, 
and then I’ll send her over to you.” 

“ Say, isn’t this something new for you, Meredith ? 
When did you go in for charity ? ” 

“Never mind, Fred,” was the reply. “ Judge Wil- 


156 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


mot asked me to look after a kid. This is the sister — 
most interesting case you ever heard of — tell you about 
it some time. Good-bye.” 

When the Charity Commissioner’s letter came, it was 
duly forwarded to Mrs. Hawkins ; but to insure prompt 
and certain delivery, Mr. Everington sent it by a mes- 
senger boy. The note from Mr. Everington that ac- 
companied it was of the briefest sort, yet Mrs. Hawkins 
sat down and cried when she read it. Brutality she 
had learned to endure. Kindness was more than she 
could stand. 

For Mr. Everington had now made possible for her a 
thing she had long desired — treatment at a hospital. 
To be sure he had not opened for her a path hitherto 
closed, for the city’s charities are always open ; but he 
had smoothed a road that she had feared might be 
rough. Too well, alas ! she had learned of the thorns 
in the path of the poor, of the sneers and gibes, the 
cruel taunts, the harsh treatment, the contemptuous 
attitude toward the poor, of those whom the city pays 
to care for them. Sensitive and fine in her nature, 
Mrs. Hawkins had so dreaded a repetition in the hos- 
pitals of some of the slights that had been put upon 
her elsewhere that she had held back from seeking the 
help she so sorely needed and desired. How she need 
have no fear. And though she did not fully realize the 
potency of the letter in her hand, she knew enough to 


BIG BROTHER AND GOOD SAMARITAN 167 


know that a letter from the Commissioner of Charities 
would secure for her not only prompt treatment, but 
what she craved even more, courtesy. 

“ God bless him ! ” she murmured, and fell to crying 
again. 

And so Helen found her, when she returned shortly 
to the Mattie Ford from her marketing. Together the 
two went at once to the hospital, where Mrs. Hawkins’ 
reception was even more than she had hoped for. 
Day after day she returned, and always she was 
accorded the utmost consideration. Very slowly she 
began to mend. And it would not be surprising 
if the courtesy quite as much as the pills were the 
cause of it. 

One day Hawkins came into the cabin while mother 
and daughter were at the hospital. They had not told 
him of the treatment. He wanted some coffee made, 
and was furious at their absence. For a time he sat by 
the stove, cursing. Then he went above and paced up 
and down the narrow strip of deck. From there he 
climbed to the wharf, and was just making his way 
across the “ farm ” back to Kelley’s again, when he 
caught sight of his missing wife and daughter. He 
shuffled down the water-front to meet them. 

“ Where you been ? ” he roared with a terrible oath. 

Mrs. Hawkins began to tremble visibly. 

“We’ve been to the hospital,” spoke up Helen. 


158 HIS BIG BROTHER 

“Mother has been getting some medicine for her 
cough.” 

“ And who told you that you could go to the hos- 
pital ? ” demanded Hawkins, again cursing his cower- 
ing wife. There was no reply. “ So that’s what you 
do with the money I give you, is it ? ” shouted Haw- 
kins. “ You spend it for good-for-nothing medicines. 
Damn you, you won’t spend any more for drugs. If I 
ever ketch you going to the hospital again. I’ll give 
you something you’ll remember.” And he fell to 
cursing again furiously. 

Helen protested that the medicines had cost nothing. 

An evil leer came into Hawkins’ eyes. “ I suppose 
that’s because you was along.” He called her a vile 
name, then said, “ So that’s where you spend your time, 
is it ? With them hospital doctors.” 

Impotent in her own defense, Mrs. Hawkins was 
stung to fury by this aspersion on her daughter. She 
turned fiercely on Hawkins — the first time she had 
ever faced him — and fiung back the taunts, taxing him 
with his debauchery and his cruelty. She was a lioness 
at bay. Her offspring had been attacked. She forgot 
the curious crowd that gathered, forgot the staring 
faces, the loud comments — and flung Hawkins’ conduct 
into his teeth. She made such a pitiful picture, with 
her wan face and poor garments, defending her beauti- 
ful daughter, who stood beside her with cheeks aflame 


BIG BEOTHEE AND GOOD SAMAEITAN 159 


and eyes downcast, that the ready sympathy of the 
crowd was excited. 

“ De bloke ought to have his block knocked off,” 
sang out a wharf-rat, and in an instant there was a 
rush for Hawkins. Men were pommeling him from 
all sides, when a policeman ran up. Hawkins’ assail- 
ants fled in every direction, but stopped when out of 
reach of the law to hurl back epithets and threats of 
what further they would do to Hawkins did oppor- 
tunity but present. Hawkins was led to the Mattie 
Ford by a policeman. Fright had sobered him com- 
pletely. He was as terrifled as a rat that has just es- 
caped from a terrier. His coffee he took in absolute 
silence. He never again made mention of the hospital; 
but Mrs. Hawkins, mortified, chagrined, humiliated 
beyond description by what had happened, ceased her 
visits to the dispensary. She feared a repetition of the 
scene, or something worse. 


CHAPTEK XIY 


HAWKINS 


HOUGH Hawkins’ brutality put an end to his 



A wife’s visits to the dispensary, it indirectly has- 
tened her removal to the hospital at Inwood. And 
constant regular care was the thing she most needed. 

Within a few days after the set-to on the water- 
front, Joe appeared at the coal dock and heard from 
Helen the full story of their stepfather’s attack. 
Helen cried as she told Joe about it. Joe’s fists 
clinched in anger. A month previous he would not 
have known what to do. He would have been impotent. 
How he went at once to Mr. Everington’s office — a 
thing that otherwise he had not dared — and demanded 
to see his Big Brother. 

Ordinarily Joe would have been awed by the magnif- 
icence of the place, by the marble hallways, the swift, 
silent elevators, the elegantly appointed office rooms 
with their thick, soft rugs, and costly furnishings. 
Ordinarily he would have felt entirely abashed by the 
haughty office boy who inquired his name and busi- 
ness. But Joe was now too wrought up, too much on 
fire with the thought of his mother’s wrongs to pay 


160 


HAWKINS 


161 


any heed to his surroundings. And when the guardian 
of the gate told him superciliously that he could not 
see Mr. Everington who was busy with an important 
case, Joe turned on him fiercely and demanded that his 
name be taken in to the lawyer. So impressed was the 
otfice boy that he did as ordered, and Mr. Everington 
sent out word that he would see Joe at once. He 
rightly divined that something of importance must have 
happened to bring Joe to his office. 

The door had scarcely closed behind Joe when that 
excited lad burst into a torrent of words. 

“ He won’t let me mudder go to de hospital no more, 
an’ he tells me sister he’ll beat her and me mudder 
both if dey don’t stay home. He calls me sister a 
bad name and he’s going to give her a lickin’ right on 
de street when de crowd hands it to him good, an’ a 
cop saves him from a heatin’, an’ now me mudder ain’t 
got no more medicine, an’ I wants you to come right 
away an’ give me fadder hell ” 

“ Hold on there, Joe,” said Mr. Everington, as soon 
as he could get a word in. “ Now, just take your time. 
What is the trouble ? ” 

As calmly as he could, Joe related what had oc- 
curred. Though Mr. Everington had to quiet him re- 
peatedly, so excited did Joe become as he lived over, in 
his recital, his mother’s wrongs. At best it was a dis- 
connected story. But Mr. Everington pieced the dis- 


162 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


connected statements together until he had a very ac- 
curate idea of what had occurred. 

“ Your mother is in no present danger, is she, Joe ? ” 
was his first question, after he had the story com- 
plete. 

“ No,” said Joe. “ De crowd scared him stiff. Helen 
says he ain’t hardly said a word to ’em since. But me 
mudder’s medicine is all gone an’ she’s afraid to get any 
more.” 

“I see,” said the lawyer, meditating on the case. 
“ Apparently there is only one thing to do — send her to 
a hospital to stay.” 

“ But me f adder won’t let her go,” said Joe. 

“ That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Mr. Everington. 
“ I don’t want to do anything irregular, but — well, 
your mother has got to go to a hospital at once, Joe.” 
He turned to his telephone. “ Give me the Commis- 
sioner of Charities,” he said to the operator ; and in an- 
other moment he was talking to that gentleman. 

“ Things have gone bad with that woman on the coal 
barge that I told you about recently,” he said, “ the 
woman with tuberculosis that you are going to take 
care of at Inwood. Is there accommodation for her 
there now ? ” 

“ I’m afraid we can’t help you out to-day, Mr. Ever- 
ington,” came the reply. ‘‘We haven’t an empty bed 
in the hospital.” 


HAWKINS 


163 


Can’t you put an extra cot — just an ordinary cot — 
in one of the wards, Commissioner ? Anything that’s 
fit to sleep on will do. It’s very important that this 
woman be taken care of at once. And it will be the 
biggest favor you could do me.” 

From a man of Everington’s standing, such a request 
was equivalent to an order. “ I’ll do what I can,” came 
the answer. “ We’ll put up a cot, and though that may 
not be as comfortable as a bed, the treatment will be as 
good as anybody gets.” 

“I am obliged to you. Commissioner. Will you 
please ask your superintendent to see that this woman 
has the best of care and to send his ambulance to the 

foot of Barrow Street at ” Mr. Everington paused 

and turned to J oe. “ When does policeman Sullivan go 
off duty ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ Six o’clock,” said Joe. 

“ And send your ambulance at half-past five,” he 
said, turning back to the telephone. 

Joe had listened breathlessly to the one-sided con- 
versation. “ How are you goin’ to get her away ? ” he 
asked. 

“ I don’t know yet, Joe,” said the lawyer. “ But 
have no fear. “ We’ll get her to the hospital. Now 
you go back to your work, but meet me at the Mattie 
Ford’^s dock at five o’clock. Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye,” said Joe, starting for the door. And 


164 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


then, before the lawyer understood what he was doing, 
the impulsive lad turned back, flung his arms about the 
lawyer’s great shoulders and kissed him. 

At five o’clock Mr. Everington met Joe at the 
wharf. As they went into the cabin of the coal barge, 
a warm light of welcome came into Mrs. Hawkins’ 
face. She wrung her visitor’s hand in a way that 
made his eyes go misty. 

“ The Commissioner of — the hospital head telephoned 
me this afternoon that he would send for you at half- 
past five to take you to the hospital at Inwood,” said 
Mr. Everington. 

“ Oh ! sir, you are so good,” began Mrs. Hawkins, 
impulsively. Then a look of despair came on her face. 
“ I cannot go,” she said. 

“ Cannot go ? Why not ? ” asked Mr. Everington, 
affecting to look surprised. 

“ I’m sorry, sir, but my husband, Mr. Hawkins, won’t 
let me go.” 

“ We’ll see about that,” said Mr. Everington re- 
assuringly. “ You get yourself ready. I’ll go speak 
to him. I suppose he’s at — across the street.” 

Mrs. Hawkins nodded. Mr. Everington rose and 
left the cabin, while Joe kissed his mother and fell to 
talking with Helen. 

“ He’s so kind,” Joe heard his mother say to herself, 
but he did not tell her that he himself had been the 


HAWKIlSrS 


165 


cause of Mr. Everington’s visit. He was afraid she 
might refuse to go to the hospital. 

Before Mr. Everington went to the saloon across the 
way, he hunted up Sullivan, told him plainly who he 
was, and what was his errand. “ I think I can manage 
him myself,” said the lawyer, “ but if I can’t, will you 
help ? ” 

“ Leave the old scoundrel to me,” replied Sullivan. 
“ I’ll fix him. We’ll put the woman in the hospital 
or my name ain’t Denny Sullivan.” 

But his help proved to be unnecessary. Mr. Ever- 
ington found Hawkins, and with characteristic direct- 
ness went straight to the point. 

“Your wife is going to the hospital,” he said. 
“ The ambulance is coming for her at five-thirty.” 

Hawkins stared at him for a moment with speechless 
amazement. Then anger came into his face. “ What 
the devil have you got to do with my wife?” he 
roared. 

Before he could say more, Mr. Everington spoke up, 
studying the man’s face carefully the while. “ Judge 
Wilmot has asked me to look after your family,” he 
said. “ That’s what I have to do with it.” And see- 
ing anger still mounting in Hawkins’ face, he added, 
“ And policeman Sullivan has been ordered to give me 
any assistance necessary.” 

The angry look on Hawkins’ face changed to one of 


166 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


sullenness. Judge Wilmot and his probation officers — 
for such he now supposed the lawyer to be — Hawkins 
held in contempt. He had already been questioned by 
these pseudo-policemen. But Sullivan was quite an- 
other factor. Hawkins did not want another session 
on the dark pier with that husky arm of the law. The 
lawyer had judged rightly. His bluff had worked. 

“ Is there anything that you want to say to your 
wife before she goes ? ” he asked. 

“Ho,” answered Hawkins, sullenly. “Let her go 
and be damned to her.” 

In the distance a gong could be heard clanging, the 
ringing sound growing louder and louder. It was the 
ambulance. Mr. Everington hurried over to the coal 
barge. The ambulance was there almost as soon as he. 
Immediately the inevitable crowd collected. Then 
came Sullivan. His orders made it imperative for him 
to inquire into all ambulance cases. But he had started 
to investigate this ambulance case before ever the clang 
of the gong was audible. 

“ It’s all right,” said Mr. Everington, hastening into 
the cabin. “ Mr. Hawkins consents to your going. 
Be quick, please.” 

Mrs. Hawkins was already bundled up in the only 
outer wrap she possessed. She was bustled into the 
waiting ambulance, the gong clattered sharply, the 
crowd parted, and away went the conveyance. It was 


HAWKINS 


167 


all done so quickly that even if Hawkins had wanted 
to bring in person the message he had sent by Mr. 
Everington, he would scarce have had the time to 
shuffle across the wide water-front. But Hawkins did 
not wish to run foul of Sullivan. Instead of crossing 
the water-front, he sat staring into his glass of beer, 
gulping down schooner after schooner until the lights 
went out and the doors closed, and he stumbled home, 
to fall on the bunk in a deep stupor. 

As for the lawyer, he could not help but feel a thrill 
of pleasure at the success of his efforts. He had gained 
his end and he had done so without any unpleasant dis- 
turbance. But Mr. Everington’s feeling of satisfaction 
was not wholly unalloyed. There was Helen. The 
removal of Mrs. Hawkins to a place of safety might 
bring harshest treatment if not real peril upon the 
child. Mr. Everington felt that he could not delay for 
an instant in securing her welfare. A job he felt sure 
he had already procured for her. What bothered him 
now was to know how to protect the girl from her 
brutal father. As like as not that individual would 
take from her every cent she earned, but worse than 
that he might abuse her — doubtless would. 

Mr. Everington could see but one way out of the 
difficulty. He must take the girl away, too. He must 
put her in a home where she would be properly cared 
for and be safe from Hawkins. But the law gave hii4 


168 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


no authority thus to step in between Helen and her 
foster-father. Fortunately the girl still lacked a trifle 
of being sixteen years of age, and so was still subject 
to the authority of the Children’s Court. Thanks to 
the benevolent tyranny the law allows the justices of 
that bench, Judge Wilmot could do what Mr. Evering- 
ton dared not. So to his friend of the Children’s Court 
went the lawyer. 

As he was speeding toward the Judge’s home, Mr. 
Eyerington could not but ponder over the manner in 
which he was becoming involved in the family fortunes 
of the Wainrights. Ever widening, like a circle in the 
water, had grown his burden of responsibility. Re- 
luctantly he had consented to be a Big Brother to Joe, 
when his understanding of his task was that it involved 
nothing more than an occasional meeting with Joe, an 
occasional night at the theatre with him, and a kind 
word now and then to show the lad that he cared what 
became of him. And now, within less than a month 
from the day he became J oe’s Big Brother, he had put 
Joe in school, gotten him permission to sell papers, 
bought him clothes, sent his mother away to a hospital, 
practically gotten a job for Helen, while now he was 
about to take her away from the coal barge, too, and 
so in a measure become responsible for her welfare in 
addition to Joe’s. 

At the thought of all these things, the mere suggest 


HAWKINS 


169 


tion of which, a month ago, he would have regarded as 
wild imaginings of a disordered brain, Mr. Everington 
merely laughed. The whole situation was so incon- 
gruous that he chuckled over it as at a good joke. 
Surely the leaven of human kindness was working in 
the great lawyer’s heart. 

Judge Wilmot rubbed his hands with satisfaction 
when he learned of his friend’s varied activities. He 
commended him heartily. 

“We can settle the whole matter nicely,” he said. 
“ I’ll have the girl brought to me in the morning on a 
charge of improper guardianship, and order her to be 
removed from the canal-boat to a suitable home. My 
probation officer will look after that, so you will not 
need to waste any more of your time.” 

“ That’s fine,” rejoined the lawyer, “ but I — well, 
the truth is I don’t think it would be wasting my time. 
Judge, to see that the little girl is properly cared for. 
You let your probation officer find a place for the girl 
and I will go with her to see if it is all right.” 

So the matter was settled. Helen appeared before 
Judge Wilmot the next morning, was taken quietly to 
his chambers where he had a long talk with her, and 
without ever realizing that she had been arrested and 
arraigned in a court, she went away again, her heart 
brimming with happiness. She had seen the last of 
her dreaded stepfather and the hated old coal barge. 


170 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


A pleasant boarding place was found where wholesome 
influences would surround her. Mr. Everington took 
her to the landlady and insured kind treatment for the 
girl by winning the landlady’s heart with his genial 
manners and his touching story of the girl’s hard ex- 
periences. Then he took her to the great cloak factory 
where the girl speedily made a place for herself by her 
skill. She was given six dollars a week. Truly the 
Wainright family was on the way to better things. 


CHAPTEK XV 


A DESCENT ON THE MATTIE FORD 

B ut if affairs were going better with the Wain- 
rights, they were far otherwise with Charles 
Hawkins. Like many another man, he had held in 
slight esteem a possession, which, once taken from him, 
he prized highly. He had not missed the water till 
the well ran dry. However much Joe’s mother may 
have regretted marrying Hawkins, she had been a good 
wife. She had been patient, gentle, even kind ; and 
only once, on the occasion of their quarrel on the 
street, had she voiced the indignation she so often felt 
at his conduct. Perhaps her lot had been happier if 
she had. Instead she had borne his ill treatment un- 
complainingly. 

To the best of her ability she had kept the cabin 
clean and warm, though nothing could ever have made 
it seem homelike, and she had cooked the food reg- 
ularly and well, whenever there was food to cook. 
When she was unable to do these duties, Helen had 
performed them. 

Now there was no one to keep the cabin clean, to 
tend the fire, or to cook the food. By one of those odd 
171 


172 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


twists of character nature delights in, Charles Hawkins 
was a man who wanted things clean and neat, but had 
no aptness himself in household duties. So his cabin 
soon came to be in fearful condition. He could not 
cook and he was amazed at the way his money melted 
at the restaurants. If he remained long absent from 
the barge, his fire went out, and he came back to a cold 
and cheerless abode. 

For physical comforts he was in a bad way. He was 
just as badly off otherwise. His continuous dissipa- 
tion was undermining his health. His strength was 
fast leaving him. As he drank more and more, he paid 
less attention to his work, and now he was under threat 
of dismissal unless he mended his ways. Once this 
job was gone, Hawkins knew he was in the gutter for 
good. 

He was too old and besotted to stir himself and take 
a fresh hold on life. So he sat and brooded and slowly 
drank himself toward absolute ruin. And as he brooded 
he came to hate Mr. Everington, whom he blamed for 
all his troubles, and then Joe, and finally the entire 
Wainright family. Day by day this ugly mood grew, 
until he was in a very dangerous frame of mind. 

At this point he began to hunt for his absent wife. 
He had not been told where she was going. But he 
assumed that the same hospital that had given her 
medicine must now be her place of refuge. He went 


A DESCENT ON THE MATTIE FORD 173 


to the House of Kelief and demanded to see his wife. 
When he was informed that his wife was not there, he 
created a scene, declaring that everybody was leagued 
against him. He thought that the hospital authorities 
were deceiving him. After several tempestuous visits, 
on the last of which he was threatened with arrest if 
he returned, he concluded that perhaps his wife had 
been taken elsewhere. He knew that patients were 
sometimes transferred from one hospital to another. 
But where she could be, or how to find her, Hawkins 
did not know. His brain was now too much dulled for 
sharp thinking. But he did not return to the hospital, 
and so probably kept out of trouble. Instead, he went 
back to his brooding and his thoughts of vengeance. 

At this juncture it happened that Mrs. Hawkins 
needed the few garments she had left behind her in her 
hasty flight from the Mattie Ford. At her request the 
hospital authorities informed Mr. Everington. The 
lawyer at once sent a message to Joe, asking him to 
come to him during the luncheon hour. They ate to- 
gether at a quick lunch counter, and Mr. Everington 
could not have derived more satisfaction from the best 
meal to be had at his exclusive luncheon club than he 
got from that first informal meal with Joe. 

‘‘ Want to join me on a little adventure this after- 
noon, Joe ? ” inquired Mr. Everington, when the meal 
was nearly finished. 


174 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


“ Sure,” said Joe. “ What are you going to do ? ” 

Ordinarily Joe would have said “ Whatcha goin’ to 
do ? ” But between the efforts of his teacher, and Mr. 
Everington’s reiterated admonition that ‘‘ if you want 
to associate with nice people you must learn to talk like 
them,” Joe was improving his diction. At times, when 
he could remember, his language was painfully correct. 
And this was one of the times. 

“ I’m going to the Mattie Ford to get your mother’s 
clothes.” 

“ Hully gee ! ” exclaimed Joe, forgetting everything 
in his excitement. “Whatcha goin’ to do wit’ Haw- 
kins ? ” 

“ I don’t know, Joe,” was the reply, “ but I want you 
to help me. Will you ? ” 

“ Will I ? ” repeated Joe with eagerness. “ I’d go t’ 
hell for you, Mr. Everington.” 

“ Hush, Joe,” said the lawyer, though he smiled with 
pleasure the while he administered the rebuke^ “ that 
isn’t the way nice people talk.” 

Joe’s face clouded. “ I mean — I mean I’m wit’ you,” 
he said. 

So it was arranged that at four o’clock the two 
should meet near the coal dock to rifle the Mattie 
Ford. 

Joe was on hand long before the hour set, but he 
was very careful not to show himself to the vengeful 


A DESCENT ON MATTIE FORD 175 

barge captain. He peeped in at Kelley’s back door, 
but saw nothing of Hawkins. Slipping along behind 
trucks and wagons, he carefully reconnoitred the 
neighborhood of the coal dock. The barge was there 
all right, but Hawkins was not to be seen. Taking a 
searching look about him, to make sure he would 
not be surprised from behind, Joe crept aboard the 
Mattie Ford^ and peeped in at the cabin window. His 
stepfather was sitting by the stove. He looked very 
fierce as he sat brooding in his chair. Joe shivered 
with apprehension and tiptoed away to await with 
what patience he could the arrival of his Big Brother. 

When that individual appeared, he carried a large 
suit-case. Joe ran to him and told him what he had 
learned about Hawkins. 

“ Ain’t you afraid ? ” he asked. 

“ No,” said Mr. Everington. 

Joe looked at his friend dubiously. “ He got away 
from three cops and a bulldog in Jersey City,” he said. 
“ What’ll he do with you ? ” 

Mr. Everington laughed. “ Wait and see,” he said. 
He gave the suit-case to Joe. “ You keep out of sight,” 
he said, “ and when I get the old fellow out of his den, 
slip in and get your mother’s clothes.” 

Joe raced over to a near-by pile of freight and 
secreted himself under the tarpaulin cover so that he 
could peep out. 


176 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


Mr. Everington warily approached the coal barge. 
“ Hello, Hawkins ! ” he called loudly from the edge of 
the pier. 

He had to shout three times before the brooding man 
within heard him and slowly shuffled to the deck. 
Once he saw who was calling him, the barge captain 
moved quickly enough. 

“ It’s you, eh ? ” he shouted with an oath, and came 
straight for the lawyer. 

“Yes,” said the latter with apparent unconcern. 
“ Policeman Sullivan and I thought we’d come have a 
talk with you about your wife.” 

Hawkins’ step faltered and he glanced apprehensively 
around. 

“ Let’s go over to Kelley’s and have a drink while we 
talk things over,” suggested Everington. 

“All right,” said Hawkins, and he turned toward 
the saloon ; but all the way across the “ farm ” his eyes 
wandered restlessly on this side and that. 

“ Sullivan will be along in a minute,” said the lawyer, 
noting the restless gaze. 

Fear kept Hawkins quiet and fairly civil. The 
generous drink of high-grade whiskey — something be- 
yond Hawkins’ own purse— somewhat mollified him. 
Another drink followed and another, all from the same 
bottle. The lawyer did not mention Mrs. Hawkins. 
Instead he started a conversation about the sea and the 


A DESCENT ON THE MATTIE FOBD 177 


old-timers of the water-front, and soon Hawkins was 
boastfully telling of the deeds of his youth when he 
“ sailed with the best of ’em out o’ New York.” His 
spirits rose as he painted the picture of his younger 
days. He straightened up, threw out his chest, and 
became in his own imagination the sturdy, able seaman 
he was picturing. His sorrows were forgotten in the 
exhilaration from the genial liquor. He forgot his 
enmity for the man before him — forgot everything, in 
fact, except that more felicitous youth he was babbling 
about. And when the lawyer bade him good-bye, not 
forgetting to leave him with a full glass to keep him 
behind, he shook hands as though parting from an old 
friend. 

Meantime Joe had not been idle. The minute his 
Big Brother and his stepfather disappeared within the 
portals of Kelley’s hostelry, Joe darted aboard the 
Mattie Ford, He was tingling all over with delicious 
excitement. In his eagerness he fumbled ineffectually 
at the door-knob. And when he got inside he set to 
packing his case with feverish eagerness. Suppose 
Hawkins should kill Mr. Everington and then catch 
him in the cabin. He could not make his hands go 
fast enough. Without folding or wrapping the separate 
garments, he snatched them from peg and chair back 
and thrust them into the case. Then, hardly daring to 
breathe, he tiptoed to the door, saw that the coast was 


178 


HIS BIG BROTHEB 


clear, and was off the coal barge and up the water- 
front in a second. When he finally convinced himself 
that his burly stepfather was not at ’ his heels, he 
stopped, panting like a steam-engine. 

When he had gotten his breath, he thought out his 
plan of campaign. Leaving the suit-case in the custody 
of an accommodating barber, he went warily back 
toward the coal dock, ready to fly at an instant’s 
warning. But everything appeared to be as usual. 
There was no fight, no disturbance of any kind in 
sight. He waited and waited. After a long time 
came Mr. Everington forth from Kelley’s. Joe looked 
him over with an apprehensive interest that almost 
gave way to disappointment when he saw that his 
Big Brother bore not so much as a scratch. 

They got the suit-case, which Mr. Everington took 
to his office. When he opened it, he found a torn 
skirt, an old waist, part of a corset, a pair of Hawkins’ 
shoes, two pairs of trousers with holes in the seats, a 
derby hat, and sundry other articles of masculine ap- 
parel. He sat down and laughed until the tears ran 
from his eyes. When the suit-case finally reached the 
hospital at Inwood, it was filled with articles of woman’s 
apparel. But all were new and fresh. 


CHAPTEE XVI 


WHAT HAPPENED TO HENRY 

D UEING the weeks he was winning the confidence 
of Joe and smoothing the path of Joe’s mother 
and sister, Mr. Everington had not lost sight of Henry 
— that is, he had not mentally lost sight of the cripple. 
Physically, indeed, the lad had vanished from his view. 
The only time that the lawyer had ever actually seen 
the cripple was on the occasion of Joe’s fight and 
arrest. That view was of the briefest sort, a mere 
glance at the deformed figure on the sidewalk. For 
on the occasion of Joe’s arrest for being without a 
permit to sell papers, Henry had vanished from his 
accustomed haunts. He was in the same fix as Joe, so 
far as a permit was regarded, and he dreaded the police 
even more than Joe did, because he could not run from 
them as Joe could. He had no means of escape should 
the guardians of the law decide to take him. To be 
on the safe side, he sought out new fields of activity, 
and not until the very afternoon that Joe was arrested 
for defending Henry had Joe set eyes on his brother 
since his first visit to Judge Wilmot’s court. 

On that afternoon Henry again sought refuge in a 
179 


180 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


strange part of the city. He was right in assuming 
that he was wanted, but altogether wrong in his as- 
sumption as to who wanted him and why he was 
wanted. He supposed the police were after him. 
Like his younger brother, and hundreds of other chil- 
dren of the streets, his ideas of the police were entirely 
erroneous. To him they were dragons, fierce and terri- 
ble. If they were after him, they could want him for 
one reason only — to do some harm to him. He did not 
understand that under those heavy blue coats often beat 
warm hearts. He could not comprehend that when a 
patrolman chased a street urchin it was sometimes for 
the urchin’s own good. But the ones who wanted 
Henry now were not the police. Joe and Mr. Ever- 
ington and Judge Wilmot all wanted him. The plan 
was to send Henry to school along with Joe, and let 
him sell papers after school hours. 

A general alarm was sent out to the police at Judge 
Wilmot’s request, but if any policemen saw Henry, 
they neglected to bring him in. The Children’s Court 
attendants were too busy to hunt for him. Joe looked 
for his brother high and low, for Joe was now eager to 
have Henry begin his schooling. But for a long time 
the search was in vain. 

Joe himself was making rapid strides in learning. 
He was not studying merely because he had been sent 
to school, but because now he saw the utility of knowl- 


WHAT HAPPENED TO HENRY 


181 


edge. His year on the streets had taught him that 
knowledge is power — and power is the same thing as 
money. Every time his Big Brother saw Joe he let 
fall some word as to the utility of education. He had 
told Joe plainly that all of his own great success was 
based on knowledge, and that if Joe would but study 
hard there was no height to which he could not climb. 
To Joe the lawyer’s words were gospel. The way he 
dug into his books was amazing. Joe’s teacher aided 
him all she could, and Joe was rapidly making up for 
the time he had spent on the streets, even despite the 
short hours he spent in school. He knew that educa- 
tion led to the coveted job he wanted — a job from 
which “ no cop could chase ” him. And that delightful 
haven he wanted to share with Henry. 

It was high time that Henry should reach that 
haven, or some other equally desirable. Under the in- 
fluence of the streets he was fast degenerating. His 
very success broke down his moral fibre. The sturdi- 
ness that had come to Joe through struggle was entirely 
lacking in Henry. While Joe was toiling untiringly 
to earn twenty or thirty cents a day, Henry had often 
taken in three times as much. But he did not earn it. 
People with more kindness than judgment paid him 
double for his wares, or even gave him stray coins out- 
right ; and we already know how he had passed to an 
attitude of easy complaisance under such charity. By 


182 HIS BIG BROTHER 

this time Henry was on his way to become a beggar 
for life. 

When he betook himself from the region of the ferry, 
he drifted to the Bowery, and there he was quickly ob- 
served by those who saw profit in his deformity. They 
cultivated his acquaintance, seeking to ingratiate them- 
selves with him. They invited him to their nightly 
gathering of beggars in one of the vilest dens of that 
vile thoroughfare. Here Henry met other cripples, 
genuine and fraudulent, and a hundred other breeds of 
mendicants who prey upon the sympathetic with their 
tales of woe. He was shown how to make his own de- 
formity appear a dozen times more pitiful, how to make 
his appeals for assistance more touching. He was be- 
ing schooled in all the arts of beggary in one of the 
most successful schools of beggary in existence. 

Though he had not become wholly degenerate, he 
was dangerously near to the brink — how near may be 
judged from the fact that when Joe one day espied 
Henry at Chatham Square, and essayed to take him 
away, Henry did not want to go. Joe was amazed. 
He told Henry excitedly of the good fortune that had 
befallen the family, and of the good things in store for 
Henry himself. Even then the cripple went with re- 
luctance. Perhaps he meditated a return to the Bow- 
ery, but it never saw him more. 

Though Henry had undoubtedly degenerated, he had 


WHAT HAPPENED TO HENRY 


183 


not reached or even approached the point where he was 
beyond recovery. His heart was still the heart of a 
child. An act of genuine kindness touched him more 
deeply than it would have most children, for in his sor- 
rowful little life acts of kindness had been rare. Like 
a suffering stray dog, he was ready to lick the hand that 
stroked him. And this was the more so from the fact 
that though he had had little of real kindness, he had 
had overmuch of false kindness, the kindness that would 
toss him a scornful nickel, but blush to take him by the 
hand. That sort of a giver Henry was quick to detect. 

For the same reason he felt a rush of gratitude when 
Meredith Everington came to him at the lodging-house, 
where Joe had taken him,' and sat down beside him 
and talked long and kindly to him. It was the turn- 
ing point in Henry’s life. He could feel the man’s in- 
terest in him. Ever afterward he cherished in his 
heart the knowledge that this great man was concerned 
as to what became of Henry Wainright. In the ocean 
of his future existence this was the life-saving thought 
that he clung to. There was some one who cared. 
And when Mr. Everington, seeing the condition of 
Henry’s bloodless body and listening to the telltale 
cough that was fastening upon him, made arrangements 
for his care in the same hospital where his mother was, 
Henry’s heart overflowed with gratitude to his bene- 
factor. 


18 i 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


He heard afresh from Joe the story of all that had 
passed. Helen came to see him. The renewed contact 
with his family, the clean, wholesome surroundings, 
the inspiring talk of Joe, the kindness extended to him, 
and finally the thought of his mother, whom he loved 
dearly, all combined to produce a powerful effect on 
Henry. He was at that age when he was quickly sus- 
ceptible to any influence. He could not help contrast- 
ing this better side of life with his recent experiences, 
and he saw, as Joe did, that the better life was worth 
striving for. But unlike Joe, he lacked the moral 
strength to struggle forward. He needed, even more 
than Joe did, the sustaining influence that had come to 
them both in the realization that Mr. Everington would 
help them and that he cared. 

At length came the day for Henry to go to the hos- 
pital. Late in the afternoon Mr. Everington went 
from his office to the lodging-house. This was the 
hour he had selected for all his services to his little 
proteges. To his surprise he had found that being a 
big brother did not involve the dreaded loss of time he 
had urged as an objection to the task. It simply meant 
that he altered the direction of some of his after-office 
hours. He had suffered no loss of revenue, but he had 
gained largely in human experience, and even profited 
physically from the hours spent with Joe in the open 
air. So now he came to take Henry himself to his new 


WHAT HAPPENED TO HENEY 


186 


abode instead of sending him with an agent. Joe was 
waiting for him at the door as he stepped from his 
limousine. 

They found Henry in a state of pleasurable excite- 
ment. Joe had told him he was to go to the hospital 
that afternoon. He was eager to go, for Joe had 
hinted to him that perhaps the doctors could do more 
for him than cure his cough ; perhaps they might even 
be able to straighten the crooked little feet. And 
though this was a dream never to be realized, Henry 
treasured the suggestion in his mind with a wistful 
eagerness, and longed to reach the hospital in order 
that the doctors might at least have a chance. When 
Mr. Everington appeared, Henry greeted him with a 
tearful welcome that plainly showed his nervous eager- 
ness. He put on his coat, said good-bye to the kind 
people at the lodging-house, and hobbled down the 
stairs, assisted by Joe. 

A block distant ran a line of street-cars. Henry 
started up the block, clattering along on his crutches 
almost as fast as Joe could walk. He had gone per- 
haps fifty feet when Mr. Everington emerged from the 
door of the lodging-house. 

“ Here’s your car, Henry,” he called after the cripple. 

Henry hastened back and stared at the handsome 
motor-car standing at the curb. “ That — for me ? ” he 
asked incredulously. 


186 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


“ For you,” said the lawyer with a smile. 

Henry’s lips moved as though to speak, but no sound 
came. Instead the tears streamed down his cheeks. 
He turned and silently climbed into the car. 

“Hop in, Joe,” said Mr. Everington, and they 
were off. 


CHAPTER XVII 


A BLUE'EYED SCHOOL-TEACHER 

W ITH Mrs. Hawkins and Henry in the hospital, 
with Helen happily at work, and with Joe in 
school, Mr. Everington felt as though his labors for the 
Wainright family were about concluded. On his way 
to his office some days after he had taken Henry to 
the hospital, Mr. Everington mentally reviewed the en- 
tire case. Only a few brief weeks had passed since he 
first set eyes on Joe in Judge Wilmot’s court. Yet in 
those few weeks a family had been raised from the 
depths of misery and despondency to comparative com- 
fort and a lively hope for the future. A suffering 
woman had been put within reach of health, and better 
still three children had been saved to decency and pos- 
sible usefulness. 

When Mr. Everington thought it all over he could 
hardly believe it. The results were great. The effort 
that achieved the results was negligible in quantity. 
An hour or two, now and then, given to this stricken 
family instead of being wasted in a club, and the thing 
was done. It had been as easy as switching a freight- 
train from the wrong track to the right one — simply a 
187 


188 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


matter of turning energies into another direction. 
Apparently his job of Big Brother was about con- 
cluded and Mr. Everington felt regret at the idea. 
But the idea was destined to vanish about as quickly as 
it had come. 

For in the morning’s mail was a report from Joe’s 
school-teacher — one of the special semimonthly reports 
she had agreed to send. Smiling, Mr. Everington tore 
open the envelope and glanced over its contents. The 
smile vanished from his face. Joe was marked “ poor ” 
in all of his studies, and he had repeated absences 
charged against him. Mr. Everington was struck dumb. 

That afternoon the lawyer had a long talk with Joe. 

“ What has gone wrong at school ? ” asked the 
lawyer. 

“ Nothin’,” answered Joe, almost sullenly. 

“ Then what does this report mean ? ” And Mr. 
Everington held out the telltale paper. 

Joe was silent. 

“ Don’t you like your studies ? ” 

“ Sure.” 

“ Then what is the trouble ? Is it with the 
teacher ? ” 

Again Joe was silent. 

“ I think that I’ll have to see your teacher,” said 
Joe’s Big Brother. 

Joe moved uneasily. “ She’s no good.” 


A BLUE-EYED SCHOOL-TEACHER 189 

“ I thought you liked her.” 

‘‘ I did,” said Joe, “ but I don’t no more.” 

“ So that’s the trouble, eh ? Kow tell me what she 
did that you don’t like.” 

Joe hung his head and twisted his little hands 
nervously, but said nothing. 

“ Did she scold you, Joe ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Joe. 

“ And what did you do to make her scold you ? ” 

The little fingers twisted and untwisted. Joe’s 
whole body squirmed. But he made no reply. 

“ Come, Joe,” said the lawyer. “ Is this the way to 
treat your Big Brother ? ” 

Joe looked up quickly. He saw what he thought 
was a pained look in the lawyer’s face. Impulsively he 
threw his arms around his Big Brother’s neck. “ I — I 
told her I loved her,” he faltered, “ but I don’t. I 
don’t love nobody but you.” And now the tears were 
welling in his eyes. 

So that was it — Joe, like his mother, could not stand 
kindness. He had tumbled head over heels in love 
with his blue-eyed teacher who had been so helpful to 
him. And now his little soul was smarting at the un- 
gracious response to his devotion. Mr. Everington 
knew that at twelve an attack of the grand passion is 
seldom a serious matter ; but he also knew that if Joe’s 
sensitive nature were to be saved from harm, the af- 


190 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


fair must be handled discreetly. Here was where the 
blue-eyed young teacher had come short. She under- 
stood childish minds better than she did childish 
hearts. 

Yery serious and kind was Mr. Everington, when, 
after a moment’s reflection, he went on : “ So you told 
your teacher that you loved her, and she was cross 
about it. Is that it ? ” 

“ Yes,” sniffled Joe. 

“ That was unkind, Joe. Even if she did not love 
you, she should not have been cross. Try not to think 
about it when you talk to her hereafter.” 

“ I ain’t going to talk to her any more,” said Joe. 

“ I ain’t going back to school.” 

In vain did Mr. Everington argue with the lad. Joe 
was firm in his determination. He would not go back 
to school. Mr. Everington could have appealed to the 
love Joe had just confessed for him, and Joe would 
have suffered the martyrdom of facing his blue-eyed 
teacher again : for now the strongest influence in his 
little heart was the real affection he had come to feel 
for his Big Brother. But Mr. Everington knew that 
this was a dangerous way to settle the matter. He 
wanted J oe to continue his studies, not because his Big 
Brother requested it, but because Joe himself desired 
to do so. To supply that motive was now Mr. Everi 
ington’s task. Suddenly he ceased pleading. ■ ? 


A BLUE-EYED SCHOOL-TEACHEE 


191 


“ You’re a big sucker, Joe,” he said. 

Joe was shocked into tearlessness by this sudden 
change. Doubtless, like the rest of us, he did not en- 
joy being called names. He sat bolt upright and 
looked mad. 

“ You’re a big sucker, Joe,” repeated the lawyer ; 
and before Joe could open his mouth, he went on, “ I 
never before believed that you would let anybody cheat 
you out of a thing you had paid for.” 

Joe looked puzzled. “ I wouldn't,” he said defiantly. 

“ But that’s just what you are doing, Joe. You’ve 
helped to pay this teacher for teaching you, and now 
you are letting your feelings cheat you out of what 
belongs to you. The teacher doesn’t care whether you 
get an education or not. She told you that she didn’t 
care anything about you. And now you are going to 
cheat yourself out of your chance in life just because 
you feel sore at her. You’re a sucker, Joe.” 

Joe’s eyes began to snap. “ I ain’t,” he said. “ And 
I don’t help pay her.” 

“ You don’t ? ” exclaimed Mr. Everington. “ Then 
who does pay the school-teachers ? ” 

“ The city,” said Joe. 

“ And where does the city get the money to pay 
them?” 

“ From taxes.” 

“ And who pays the taxes ? ” 


192 


HIS BIG BEOTHEB 


“ Why, the street-car company, and the gas company, 
and the telephone people, and the people that own 
houses.” 

“ Exactly,” said Mr. Everington. “ And where do 
they get the money ? ” 

“ Why, from rents, and car-fares, and ” 

“ That’s exactly where all the money comes from,” 
interrupted Mr. Everington. “ Every time you ride in 
a street-car, part of your nickel helps to pay the taxes. 
Every time you use a telephone, you are helping to 
pay for the public schools. Am I right or not ? ” 

“ You’re right,” said Joe. 

“Yery well, then. You are helping to pay the 
salary of a school-teacher and now you are going to 
cheat yourself out of the education that belongs to you 
because you don’t happen to like the teacher. Suppose 
you paid the butcher for a pound of beefsteak and then 
refused to take it because you didn’t like the butcher. 
Wouldn’t you be a sucker ? ” 

“ You bet,” said Joe. 

“ And aren’t you a sucker now, if you don’t go back 
and get that education ? ” 

Joe laughed. “ I’m going back to-morrow,” he 
said. 

“ I knew that you would, Joe, when you understood 
the case. And remember, Joe, that going to school is 
just as much of a business as selling newspapers. You 


A BLUE-EYED SCHOOL-TEACHEE 


193 


sell newspapers to get bread and butter. You are 
going to school to learn how to get more bread and 
butter. Don’t forget that. That is your business just 
now. And be nice to the teacher and she will be nice 
to you. She was cross with you because she was trying 
to attend to her business of teaching little boys. She 
was simply trying to keep you from interfering with 
her business. Now you go back to school and don’t 
let her interfere with your business.” 

“ I’ll go,” said Joe, giving his Big Brother a hug. 
He started away, but turned back. “ I was a sucker, 
wasn’t I ? ” he said, and was gone. 

Mr. Everington leaned back in his chair and chuckled 
over the whole affair. Then he turned to his desk, 
picked up a pen, and wrote a note, such as only men of 
his sort can write. 

“ You can imagine how surprised I was at your last 
report about Joe,” ran the note. “ The child has just 
left me, after telling me the whole story of his diffi- 
culty. It seems that he has paid you the highest 
compliment that any man or boy can pay to any 
woman. It must make you feel very happy to know 
that you exercise such a wonderful influence over this 
little lad, who has had much in his life that was hard 
and bitter. What an opportunity for service you have. 

“ If you will but be kind and patient with Joe, you 
can do anything with him. You will pardon this sug- 
gestion, I pray, because I have had a longer and per- 
haps better opportunity to find out just what the lad 
is like. He is stubborn, as probably any strong-willed 


194 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


individual must be ; but his heart is as tender as a 
flower. It is easily hurt. You cannot drive him an 
inch, but you can lead him around the world. 

“ I know that you will do your best to help him. I 
know that you are genuinely interested in him. He is 
on the way to a splendid manhood, and when he has 
arrived and looks back at the influences that have 
moulded his character, I know he will And one of the 
most potent was that exerted upon him by the teacher 
he likes so much. I shall ever be grateful to you for 
your efforts in behalf of little Joe. 

“ Faithfully yours, 

“ Meredith Everington.” 


CHAPTEE XVIII 


JOE MEETS HIS BIO BROTHER’S WIFE 
EEDLESS to say, there was no further lapse in 



-L ^ Joe’s scholarship. A trifle of effort by Joe’s Big 
Brother had again saved him from a resumption of his 
life in the gutter — for had there been no Big Brother 
to persuade Joe to return to his duty, he must in- 
evitably have drifted back to the streets again. But 
there still remained a big obstacle to the things Mr. 
Everington had in mind for Joe. The obstacle was 
Mr. Everington’s wife. She had not yet been won to 
little Joe. 

In fact Mr. Everington had as yet made no effort to 
win her. He knew his wife’s proud, haughty nature 
too well to try to force her to like Joe. In many re- 
spects she was amazingly like himself. She needed to 
be persuaded. She could be made to help Joe only if 
she came to like him. And the lawyer had been wait- 
ing for a chance to take Joe to her under circumstances 
that would help her to like the lad. Mrs. Everington 
laid great stress upon dress. And in selecting Joe’s 
clothes Mr. Everington had had his wife’s prejudice in 
mind. The garments he had procured for Joe were 


195 


196 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


not only serviceable but they were good-looking, and 
they set off to particular advantage Joe’s red cheeks 
and his cheery face. Had Mrs. Everington set eyes on 
the wretched looking creature that Joe was on the day 
of his arraignment before Judge Wilmot, she would 
never have had anything to do with him. Of that Mr. 
Everington was certain. But now Joe was as pleasing 
in appearance as any lad of twelve could well be. Mr. 
Everington felt well satisfied in that direction. He 
felt that the first step toward establishing cordial re- 
lations between his wife and his protege had been ac- 
complished. The next step was to bring them together 
in such a way as to make Mrs. Everington like the lad. 
So far as was in his power Mr. Everington had made 
sure that Joe would like his wife. He had spoken 
frequently to the lad of her beauty and her many 
admirable traits. 

How to make Mrs. Everington like Joe was a 
problem over which the lawyer had studied much 
during the six weeks since he took Joe under his wing. 
He was trying hard to improve Joe’s English. If he 
could accomplish that, he would have removed a second 
obstacle. Joe was doing his best to speak correctly, 
not so much because he yet felt the need of improve- 
ment as because he saw how very greatly his Big 
Brother desired that improvement. Excepting at 
times, when he was excited, Joe now did fairly well. 


JOE MEETS HIS BIG BROTHEE’S WIPE 197 


Still, Mr. Everington did not want to take Joe 
directly into his own home, because there Joe would 
be subjected to merciless scrutiny. If Joe and Mrs. 
Everington could meet somewhere else, where the lad 
would not feel that he was under such close observa- 
tion, and where Mrs. Everington’s attention would not 
be centred wholly on Joe, the result might be better. 
And this was the way Mr. Everington planned to make 
the two acquainted. He at last thought he saw an op- 
portunity in a visit to the country club. It was the 
first that he had been able to arrange since his first 
mention of Joe to his wife. 

That mention of Joe to his wife had indeed been the 
only one. When Mr. Everington saw his wife’s de- 
termined opposition to his new project, he knew that 
he could not drive her into acquiescence, so he had said 
nothing more about the matter. But his silence did 
not deceive his wife. She knew well enough that her 
husband was looking after Joe. Meredith Everington 
never spoke to her as he had spoken with reference to 
Joe unless he was absolutely determined upon a thing. 
Then she knew there was no turning him back. And 
so, although her husband was silent, she knew that he 
was helping Joe; and she wondered what the boy 
looked like, and what her husband was doing for him. 
Had he known it, Mr. Everington probably could not 
have done anything that would more surely arouse his 


198 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


wife’s interest in Joe. It is not altogether certain that 
he did not know it ; for he was well acquainted with 
his wife’s great bump of curiosity. The oftener she 
thought of Joe, the more she wanted to see him — to 
see what this strange creature her husband had told 
her about looked like. Her curiosity was the more 
piqued because word came to her through the chari- 
tably inclined in her circle of friends that Judge 
Wilmot, who was an aristocrat himself, had been tell- 
ing the most interesting stories about her husband’s 
experiences with his Little Brother. Finally she 
could stand it no longer. 

At breakfast one day she asked him bluntly when 
she was to see Joe. Mr. Everington was in a quandary. 
He was delighted that her curiosity had driven her to 
open the subject. He rightly surmised that she had 
heard something about Joe and his escapades. The 
questions that puzzled him now were these : Was his 
wife so piqued because he had concealed from her 
things that other women knew that she would “ take 
it out,” as we say, on Joe ? Or was her curiosity now 
so aroused that she would want to know Joe as well as 
see him ? These questions flashed quickly through his 
mind as he was slowly framing an answer. 

What Mrs. Everington had actually said was, “ How 
did that paragon of a caddie you were telling me about 
turn out, and when am I to see him ? ” 


JOE MEETS HIS BIG BROTHEE’S WIFE 199 


Now the lawyer replied, ‘‘ I can tell you nothing 
about his virtues as a caddie, Elise, because I haven’t 
been to the country club since I told you about him. 
But I was thinking that we could go out for the week- 
end, if you are agreeable, and I’ll try the youngster 
out then.” 

He had answered her question, but he had volun- 
teered nothing about Joe. His reply was intended 
further to pique her curiosity, and it did. 

“I shall be glad to go, Meredith,” she rejoined. 
“ I’ve been wanting to get out into the country for 
weeks.” 

“ Then we’ll drive out on Friday afternoon,” said her 
husband, but he made no further mention of Joe. He 
intended to pick up the lad at the ferry and take him 
in the car with them. 

In ample time he sent this message to Joe. “ I am 
going to the country on Friday, and want you to go 
with me. I have some work I want you to do. Be 
careful to get yourself ready, and meet me at the ferry 
at four o’clock.” 

The message made Joe as happy as a lark. Not 
since he left the South so long ago had he been in the 
country. For almost two years he had known nothing 
but brick and mortar, cobblestones, and asphalt. The 
only reminders of those old, sweet times under the 
oleanders were the little flower-pots he saw in win- 


200 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


dows, and the wonderful displays at the florists’ shops. 
And all these pretty blossoms were beyond his reach. 
Now he was going to the country — the real country, 
with its shady trees, its grassy meadows, and its daisy- 
studded fields. Hardly could he wait for the days to 
pass. And when at last came Friday afternoon, he 
raced home to prepare for the journey. For the hun- 
dredth time he read his Big Brother’s note : “ I have 
some work I want you to do. Be careful to get your- 
self ready.” The thing puzzled him. 

“ ‘ I have some work I want you to do,’ ” he re- 
peated. “ I wonder what it is.” 

Joe scratched his head and tried to think what men 
do in the country. He recalled having seen them haul- 
ing logs, ploughing, scattering manure, but he did not 
believe that Mr. Everington wanted him to do any of 
these things. He remembered that he had heard his 
Big Brother speak of a big house he went to, where he 
spent week-ends. 

“It must be something to do about that house,” 
thought Joe. Then an inspiration came to him. “I 
know,” he cried aloud. “ He wants me to carry the 
ashes out of the cellar.” He reflected a moment. 
“ That’s a dirty job,” he muttered, “ and it would dirty 
my clothes.” Then the truth came over him. This 
was what Mr. Everington had in mind when he said, 
“ Be careful to get yourself ready.” 


JOE MEETS HIS BIG BROTHER’S WIFE 201 


From under his bed Joe dragged the old suit that he 
had worn the day he first saw his Big Brother. Mr. 
Everington had wanted him to throw it away, but Joe, 
wisely provident from the lesson of a cold winter 
passed with insufficient clothing, had refused to part 
with this reserve. The lodging-house people had 
washed the garments, which had ever since lain under 
Joe’s cot, rolled up tight. They were clean, though 
dusty and ridged with a thousand creases. Joe sur- 
veyed the suit ruefully, but manfully got into it. He 
was even more rueful when he looked at himself in the 
glass. The suit appeared even worse than it had 
seemed when soiled. And Joe himself looked like a 
shriveled walnut, so creased and seamed was this outer 
integument, and so shrunken did he appear in his man’s 
size covering. Joe made a face, but bravely set out for 
the ferry. He did not care if he did look ridiculous. 
He was doing it for his Big Brother. People could 
laugh at him all they liked. 

Thus he appeared at the ferry, as ragged and as 
wretched as ever he had looked, when the Everington 
limousine turned into the plaza and rolled toward the 
ferry gate. Fortunately his face and hands were clean 
beyond reproach. 

Meredith Everington glanced about the ferry en- 
trance for Joe, as his car slowly approached the boat 
shed. He could see nothing of him. There was a 


202 


HIS BIG BKOTHER 


ragamuffin by the gate, but Mr. Everington’s eye swept 
by him without a glance at his face. 

“ It’s strange,” he muttered. “ I know he got my 
note.” 

Mrs. Everington looked out. “ Perhaps that is he,” 
she said, indicating the tattered figure by the gate. 
The lad’s appearance corresponded to the only descrip- 
tion of Joe she had ever had. 

With a bound Mr. Everington was out of the car. 
He stopped the driver with a motion of his hand and 
strode over to Joe. All his plans had gone glimmer- 
ing. He thought Joe was playing a trick on him. He 
was very angry. 

“ What does this mean ? ” he demanded sternly. 

The smile faded from Joe’s face. “ I didn’t want to 
wear ’em,” said Joe, “ but you asked me to. DonH you 
want me to carry out your ashes ? ” 

“ Carry out ashes ? ” repeated Mr. Everington, be- 
wildered. 

“ Sure,” replied Joe. “ You said you had some work 
for me to do.” 

Mr. Everington now comprehended the situation. 
“ It is my fault for not being more explicit,” he said. 
“But where are your good clothes, Joe? You can’t 
go to the country club looking like that.” 

“ I’ve got ’em on underneath,” said Joe. 

There was nothing to do but make the best of the 


JOE MEETS HIS BIG BBOTHER’S WIFE 203 


situation. “ Come here, Joe,” said Mr. Everington, 
leading the way to the waiting motor-car. All the way 
he was thinking hard as to what he should say. For 
once the lawyer was nonplused. “Elise,” he said, 
simply, “ this is little Joe, and this is the way he ap- 
peared the first time I saw him.” 

Mrs. Everington looked Joe over from head to foot ; 
but her glance was not unkind. Meantime Joe’s own 
eyes were not idle. With loving interest he surveyed 
the lady of whom his Big Brother had so often spoken, 
for he did not suspect that she was hostile to him. He 
looked into her deep, dark eyes, noted the soft pink 
cheeks and the perfect features. Then and there Joe 
transferred his affections from his school-teacher to his 
Big Brother’s wife. 

“ You’re just as pretty as he said you was,” he said. 

Mrs. Everington blushed. A bright smile lighted 
her face. “ You’re a nice little boy,” she said, and 
shook his hand warmly. 

Out of the mouths of babes shall come forth wisdom. 
Joe had said the one thing in all the world that could 
have won the proud beauty’s heart. With his naive re- 
mark he had accomplished what Meredith Everington 
had been unable to do. 

“ Run to the baggage-room and peel off those rags 
quick,” said Mr. Everington, scarcely able to conceal 
his delight. 


204 


HIS BIG BBOTHEB 


Joe did as he was bidden to do, and while Joe was 
absent in the baggage-room, Mr. Everington briefly re- 
lated to his wife the reasons for Joe’s appearance in his 
rags. 

Joe was back in no time. His haste had flushed his 
cheeks and made his eyes sparkle. He had never ap- 
peared to better advantage. “ You are even prettier 
than he said you were,” remarked Mrs. Everington as 
she looked at the smiling little face. “ Come here and 
sit beside me.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


A BAEGAIN 


HERE was still enough daylight remaining, when 



the Everington car bowled up to the country club 
after a swift run, for a round of nine holes. Mr. Ever- 
ington found an acquaintance, who was waiting for 
some one to play with, and went at once to his room to 
don his golf togs. Mrs. Everington discovered some of 
her women friends in the great living-room and was 
warmly welcomed to their little circle. 

Joe, meantime, being left to his own devices, pro- 
ceeded with boyish curiosity to examine his new sur- 
roundings. The club-house stood on a rise of ground 
overlooking the trim green of the rolling golf course 
and the dark border of woods beyond that edged the 
playing space. It did not for an instant appear to be 
the great roomy building it really was. The deceptive 
slope of the dormered Dutch roof, the cozy appearance 
of the wide porch, tucked behind great pillars and 
shaded by clambering vines now showing their first 
tint of spring green, the overarching trees, and the 
sharp shoulder of the hill behind it, into which the 
buildings seemed to nestle, all combined to give the 


205 


206 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


structure the appearance of a snug white cottage, rather 
than the look of a large club-house. Certainly the 
architect had done his work well. 

Joe did not appreciate the deceptiveness of the per- 
fectly proportioned lines. He was too young to under- 
stand the architectural perfection of the structure before 
him, but he did feel that indefinable sense of pleasure 
that comes to every one in the contemplation of a 
beautiful house. Somehow this house made Joe think 
of the little white house in Alabama more than any 
other place he had ever seen. In that cottage he had 
passed the happiest days of his life — in fact, the only 
really happy days he had ever known. Straightway 
he began to have for this snug club-house a feeling not 
unlike the affectionate recollection he cherished of his 
old home in the South. He began to wonder if he 
should ever see that home again. He did not know ; 
but he made up his mind that some day he would have 
a home of his own just like it, or just like this club- 
house— he didn’t care which. 

From the neighborhood of the club-house he 
wandered across the tennis courts toward the little 
golf house near the beginning of the course, where he 
could see several youngsters of his own age or there- 
about, gathered in a compact little ring, looking down 
at something on the ground. Joe’s curiosity was 
awakened. He hurried down to the group, and found 


A BARGAIN 


207 


them playing craps. They were the course caddies, 
passing the time while awaiting employment. Joe 
joined the circle, but made no effort to get into the 
game. The caddies were too much engrossed in watch- 
ing the dice roil to pay any attention to him. But one 
of them, who was also an onlooker, nodded to Joe ; and 
when, a little later, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, 
he offered one to Joe. Joe took it and lighted it. A 
moment later, as he was puffing away vigorously, a 
hand fell on his shoulder. Joe looked up. It was Mr. 
Everington. There was a frown on his face, but he 
merely said, “ Come, Joe.” 

Joe threw away his cigarette and followed the 
lawyer to the teeing-ground. Mr. Everington pro- 
duced a golf-ball and handed his bag of sticks 
to Joe. To the latter the game was an Egyptian 
mystery. 

“ I’m going to knock this ball around the field,” said 
Mr. Everington, “and I want you to go ahead and 
watch it. Keep your eye on it or it will get lost. 
Whenever I want another club you are to bring the 
bag to me. Do you understand ? ” 

“Yes, sir,” said Joe. He thought golf must be a 
very stupid game. 

Mr. Everington took some sand from a box near by 
and made a little cone, on which he placed the ball. 
Then he rubbed his hands carefully and even wiped 


208 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


them with his handkerchief before taking his club. 
Joe watched him closely. 

“ Now run ahead,” said Mr. Everington, “ and be sure 
you keep your eye on the ball.” Joe went a hundred 
feet. “ Farther,” called the lawyer. Joe doubled the 
distance. “ Farther yet,” called Mr. Everington. 
“ Keep going until I tell you to stop,” 

Joe went a full hundred and fifty yards before he 
heard the order to stop. He turned around. “ He’s 
nutty,” said Joe to himself. “ He can’t bat that ball 
way out here. Why, Larry Doyle couldn’t knock a 
baseball that far.” The captain of the Giants was J oe’s 
baseball hero. 

Just then Mr. Everington swung his club, the ball 
came speeding straight toward Joe, sailed over his 
head, and was lost to sight. Mr. Everington was a 
powerful driver. Joe ran in the direction the ball 
had taken, but could not find it. He was chagrined. 
Fortunately Mr. Everington had kept close watch 
and he discovered the ball at once. So there was no 
delay. Joe profited by the experience, and soon learned 
where to take his station and how to watch the ball. 

He soon discovered that different clubs were wanted 
frequently, and between supplying clubs and going 
ahead of the shot, he was kept on the run. At the 
second tee Mr. Everington again made a sand cone and 
again carefully wiped his hands before teeing off. 


A BARGAIN 


209 


“ Don’t like to dirty his hands,” thought Joe to him- 
self, “but I don’t blame him. If I had such nice 
fingers and such a fine ring, I wouldn’t want to either.” 

He laughed at the idea and glanced at his hands, 
now as grimy as usual. And while his Big Brother 
was finishing his put at the next hole, Joe fashioned 
a sand tee. It was only the first of the many thought- 
ful things he learned to do that proved that Mr. Ever- 
ington was justified in his belief that Joe would make a 
paragon of a caddie. 

Joe was given some supper with the servants, and 
later put to bed in one of the servants’ beds. Unpre- 
tentious though the room was, to Joe it seemed like a 
palace. But he did not stay awake long enough to 
think about it. He had trotted his little legs nearly 
off in going round the course. After that first 
drive he had revised his ideas as to the game’s 
being stupid. Perhaps it wasn’t as exciting as base- 
ball, but Joe knew it was a game that kept the caddie 
on the jump. 

Long before his Big Brother appeared next morning, 
Joe was up and abroad. Through the middle of the 
course ran a water hazard, in the form of a swift-fiow- 
ing brook. Joe had noted it the night before. Now 
he walked along its banks, following it into the dark 
wood, where it twisted among the trees and went 
brawling along over root and boulder. He was re- 


210 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


minded of the piney woods, where he used to gather 
blossoms with Helen for their crippled brother. But 
here, instead of pine-trees and hollies and live-oaks, 
there were hickories, and black and white oaks and 
maples, and slender birches, all radiant in their tender 
spring colors. Joe forgot everything else in his joy, 
and went on and on. Finally he came to a bed of 
marsh-marigolds. He plucked a great bunch of them. 
And then, from sheer need of having some one to share 
his happiness, he remembered his Big Brother and the 
golf game planned for the morning, and went tearing 
back to the club-house, his little heart all trembling 
lest he be tardy. He arrived just as Mrs. Everington 
was stepping out on the porch. 

“Good-morning, Joe,” she called to him cheerily. 
“ What have you there ? ” 

“ Some flowers for you, Mrs. Everington,” answered 
Joe, though until that very second he had never thought 
of giving the posies away. 

J oe was warmed up by his run, and his cheeks were 
all aflame again. His hair was rumpled, for he had 
thrust his cap in his pocket. He made a very pleasing 
picture as he stood there with the great handful of 
golden blossoms. Mrs. Everington felt her heart beat 
faster as the smiling child came up the steps and held 
out the flowers. “ Thank you, Joe,” she said warmly. 
“ It was very thoughtful of you to bring them to me.” 


A BAEGAIN 


211 


And on the impulse of the moment the haughty beauty 
bent and kissed this child of the gutter. 

Then came Mr. Everington, who had not witnessed 
the caress, but who instantly added ..his praise to his 
wife’s, so that Joe was suddenly abashed and remained 
silent instead of blurting out, as he had been about 
to do, that the gift was purely an accidental one. 
Surely fortune sometimes favors the timid as well as 
the brave. 

Mr. Everington and his opponent played eighteen 
holes, then stopped to rest before starting another 
round. Mr. Everington ’s friend excused himself for a 
moment and started for the club-house. He was in 
need of a fresh handkerchief. At the club-house he 
was delayed by the ladies. Mr. Everington meantime 
sat down to rest and smoke. Joe forthwith produced 
a pack of cigarettes and lighted one. 

“Throw that away quick,” said Mr. Everington. 
“ Mrs. Everington might see you.” 

“What if she does?” asked Joe defiantly, though 
he dropped the cigarette. 

“ If she saw you smoking, J oe, she might not like 
you any more,” said the lawyer. 

“ But she likes you, and you smoke,” said Joe. 

“She might like me better if I didn’t,” said Mr. 
Everington. 

“Did she tell you so? ” asked Joe. 


212 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


‘‘ Yes, lots of times,” said the lawyer. 

‘‘ And you didn’t stop ? ” demanded Joe in a tone of 
amazement. 

Mr. Everington was fairly cornered, for his wife 
very much disliked the smell of tobacco. Her re- 
quests for his discontinuance of the weed had been 
serious ones. “ JS^o, I didn’t,” was all that he could 
say. 

“ I’d stop in a minute if she asked me to,” said Joe. 

“ Then why won’t you stop for me ? ” 

“ Why should I,” replied Joe, “ when you smoke 
yourself ? ” 

The Big Brother was silent a moment. “ Joe,” he 
said, “ the reason I want you to stop is not because I 
dislike the smell of tobacco, but because cigarettes will 
hurt you. I want you to grow up a strong, able man 
so you can earn lots of money and have a fine home — 
like that.” He pointed to the club-house, which was 
the only dwelling in sight. 

‘‘ I’m going to,” said Joe. 

“But you can’t earn all these nice things if you 
smoke.” 

“ You did,” said Joe. 

Mr. Everington was silent. There was nothing he 
could say. Joe had done everything else he had asked 
him to do in the weeks since they met, except to stop 
smoking cigarettes. But through some strange per- 


A BARGAIN 


213 


versity, this most serious of all his bad habits, Joe 
would not forswear. Time and again the lawyer had 
asked him to give up cigarettes, and though Joe 
smoked not overly many of them, he would never 
agree entirely to cease. 

Mr. Everington’s opponent returned with his fresh 
linen, apologized for the delay, and began the new 
round. Mr. Everington played poorly. Joe, who was 
beginning to understand some of the finer points of 
the play, was impatient with his poor shots. He was 
violently partisan and could not bear to see his Big 
Brother beaten. 

All the way round Mr. Everington was thinking 
about Joe and his cigarettes. Joe was making such a 
fine start toward a good manhood, and Mr. Everington 
now loved the lad so much, that he was really grieved 
at Joe’s persistence in this habit, which, he felt sure, 
would fasten itself more and more firmly on the lad 
and do him irreparable injury. He had tried every- 
thing within reason that he could think of, and he 
could not budge Joe. It provoked him. The very 
fact that he couldn’t made him want to the more. 
What should he say to Joe that he had not already said? 
What should he do that he had not already done? 
By this time Mr. Everington felt keenly his moral 
responsibility for the welfare of this lad who trusted 
him so fully. Mr. Everington could think of only one 


214 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


thing more he could do to stop Joe’s smoking. This 
he didn’t want to do. But there was no other way. 
He must try it. While he was fighting it out with 
himself, he drove his ball into the woods, and got into 
bad positions behind the bunkers, and played altogether 
such a wretched game that Joe, exasperated and igno- 
rant of golf-links etiquette, began to hand out advice 
and clubs with equal freedom. 

When the game was over and Joe and his Big 
Brother were returning to the club-house together, 
Mr. Everington said, “ What do you suppose made me 
play such a poor game, Joe ? ” 

“I don’t know,” said Joe. ‘‘It must have been 
something awful.” 

“It was,” said Mr. Everington. “I was worrying 
about you and those cigarettes, Joe.” 

Joe’s face became sober. 

“I’ve got a proposition to make, Joe. If I stop 
smoking, will you ? ” 

“ Sure,” said Joe. “ Shake.” And the grimy little 
fist was swallowed up in the lawyer’s great, white hand. 

That night Mr. Everington went to bed without his 
customary evening smoke. Mrs. Everington noticed 
it, but thought little about it. But when they returned 
to the regularity of their domestic habits and Mr. 
Everington still avoided the weed, his wife questioned 
him about it. 


A BAEGAIN 


215 


“ I decided to quit,” said Mr. Everington casually. 

Mrs. Everington eyed him narrowly. “ Tell me the 
truth, Meredith,” she said. “ Why did you quit ? ” 

The lawyer burst out laughing. “ It’s that scamp, 
Joe,” he said. “ Somebody started him to smoking, 
and I had to swear off to get him to stop.” He 
chuckled. “ It may please you to know,” he went on, 
“ that Joe said he would have stopped smoking at a 
mere request from you — though I had to give up smok- 
ing myself before I could budge him.” 

“ You men always say that the hand that rocks the 
cradle rules the world,” retorted Mrs. Everington, 
“and as frequently refuse to believe what you say. 
I’m glad I didn’t see Joe smoking, for I should surely 
have asked him to stop.” 

“ To think that I needn’t have sworn off at all,” 
groaned Mr. Everington. 

“ It is a very proper punishment for your scepti- 
cism,” rejoined Mrs. Everington with a smile. “ And 
I am going to see that you live up to your bargain.” 


CHAPTER XX 


LEAENING BY OBSERVATION 

H owever much Mr. Everington had done for 
Joe, his efforts heretofore were only a begin- 
ning. If possible, Joe now needed his Big Brother’s 
assistance even more than he had the day they first 
met in Judge Wilmot’s court. Freed from anxiety and 
responsibility for his mother and brother, feeling him- 
self secure, in the knowledge cherished deep in his 
heart, that his Big Brother now stood between him and 
disaster, Joe’s natural buoyancy of spirit more and 
more manifested itself. He became increasingly care- 
less both of to-day and of to-morrow, yielding himself 
to the youthful enjoyment that his tiny heart craved, 
and of which he had had precious little since he left the 
Mattie Ford. Nor could he be blamed for demanding 
the heritage of childhood. He had not yet reached his 
thirteenth birthday. Yet this very tendency toward 
mischievous pranks, so long held in abeyance by his 
pressing need, now constituted a grave danger. With- 
out careful guidance the lad might easily get into 
trouble. 

Mr. Everington found the task that now confronted 
216 


LEAKNING BY OBSERVATION 


217 


him very different from his initial work of rescuing Joe 
from distress. It was a simple enough matter to open 
a hospital door and convey thither a sufferer, or to re- 
place a suit of rags with decent clothing. But to put 
into the heart of this street arab the things that should 
be there was quite another task. The months on the 
street had marked Joe deeply. Neither new clothes 
nor a fresh vocabulary had really changed the lad. 
And under stress of excitement Joe’s improved ver- 
nacular still disappeared as completely as his new gar- 
ments had on the occasion of his first visit to the coun- 
try club. Moreover, Joe’s ambition was as yet too 
vague and nebulous to prove a handle by which his 
Big Brother could control him. Something must be 
put into his life to absorb his energies while his ambi- 
tion was crystallizing, and his habits and manners must 
be entirely made over. 

“How would you like to go to the theatre to- 
night ? ” Mr. Everington asked Joe one Monday even- 
ing, for this night in each week he now set aside for 
Joe. 

“ Bully ! ” answered Joe, his eyes dancing. 

Mr. Everington glanced over the theatre advertise- 
ments and selected a play that he knew would please 
the lad. They walked up Broadway from Mr. Ever- 
ington’s office, for on these Monday nights Mr. Evering- 
ton now worked late and had supper at a near-by res- 


218 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


taurant — sometimes with Joe. By this arrangement he 
was able to do more work than he had ever done in the 
days before he knew Joe. 

“ Give me two orchestra seats about half-way front 
— on the aisle, if you have them,” said Mr. Everington 
upon their arrival at the theatre. 

The man at the office found the desired seats. 
“ How much ? ” asked Mr. Everington. 

“ Four dollars,” was the reply. 

Mr. Everington peeled a bill from a roll that he held 
in his hand, then swept up tickets and change, and re- 
joined Joe, who had been watching him with wide 
open eyes. 

Joe could not believe that he had heard aright. 
“ Did he charge you four dollars for them tickets ? ” 
he asked anxiously. 

‘‘Yes, Joe,” was the reply. 

“ I thought you wasn’t watchin’,” said Joe. “ He 
cheated you. Don’t you let him do you that way. 
Come on back and we’ll make him cough up.” And 
he grasped Mr. Everington’s coat as though to pull 
him to the box-office. 

“ It’s all right, Joe,” said Mr. Everington. “ That’s 
the regular price.” 

“ The reg’lar price ! ” exclaimed Joe. “ Four dol- 
lars ! ” 

They passed inside the theatre. Joe went dumb 


LEAEKING BY OBSEEYATION 


219 


with amazement. In silence he feasted his eyes on the 
glory. The wonderful curtain of green velvet, hanging 
in gorgeous folds, and embroidered with gold, the 
carved columns of the proscenium arch, the beautiful 
boxes, rising tier on tier, wonderfully ornate, crested 
with gold, andJiung with soft green draperies, formed 
a picture that held Joe in silent astonishment. Never 
had he seen the like. Suddenly he gave a low cry. 

“ Look ! ” he whispered, grasping his Big Brother’s 
arm. 

Mr. Everington did as directed, but saw nothing un- 
usual. “ What is it, Joe ? ” he asked. 

“ De angels ! ” said Joe. “ Look at de angels,” and 
he pointed with awed admiration at three beautiful 
women, clad in white evening gowns, who sat in one of 
the upper boxes. 

“ They are not angels,” said Mr. Everington, trying 
in vain to repress a smile. “ They are women.” And 
seeing a look of doubt on Joe’s face, he went on : “ It’s 
the clothes that make them look so nice, Joe. But 
that’s the way most nice people dress when they go to 
the theatre.” 

Joe saw that it was true, for other women wearing 
wonderful gowns were filing in, and the men with them 
were also dressed in evening clothes. But the men did 
not astonish Joe. He had seen men so dressed walking 
along the streets. 


220 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


Joe’s eyes roamed from box to box, from orchestra to 
stage. When he emerged from under the overhanging 
balcony and saw the wonderfully ornate ceiling and the 
clustered lights, he gave a little cry of delight. Then 
he was silent again, too much overcome by the charm 
of the scene to utter a word. And so Big Brother and 
Little sat in silence until the curtain rose, the lights 
winked out, and attention was claimed by the doings on 
the stage. 

All through the performance Joe sat in rapt atten- 
tion, his interest never flagging. He applauded vigor- 
ously. Once he jumped to his feet and started to shout 
to one of the players. Mr. Everington quietly pulled 
him down into his seat but said nothing. He wanted 
Joe to learn by observation. 

When the play was over, the two strolled up Broad- 
way for a few blocks before saying good-night. 

“ Did you like it, Joe ? ” asked Mr. Everington. 

“ Did I ? ” said Joe, his eyes bright with happy rec- 
ollection. “ You bet your neck.” 

“ You mean you were much pleased ? ” inquired Mr. 
Everington, apparently not understanding. 

Joe blushed. “ Sure,” he said. “ I liked it very 
much.” 

“You understood it all — heard it all ? ” asked Mr. 
Everington. 

“ Sure,” said Joe. “ Every word.” 


LEARNING BY OBSERVATION 


221 


“ That’s good,” said Mr. Everington, “ but then of 
course you would. That was a nice audience ; and nice 
people are careful never to make a noise or do anything 
else to interfere with other people’s pleasure.” 

Joe looked hard at the sidewalk for a time, then slyly 
raised his eyes to his Big Brother’s face. Mr. Evering- 
ton kept right on talking, apparently in ignorance of 
the quizzical glance focused on his face. But the next 
time the two went to the theatre together Joe sat 
quietly in his seat and was careful to make no noise or 
movement that would disturb others. 

Just as they were saying good-night Mr. Everington 
asked, “ Was it worth four dollars, Joe ? ” 

“ You bet your — I mean it was,” said Joe. “ But it’s 
an awful lot of money.” 

“ It is, Joe,” replied Mr. Everington. “ But almost 
everything we buy that is worth while costs a lot of 
money. If a man wants to enjoy life, he’s got to get a 
good education so that he can earn the money to buy 
all these things.” 

Not long afterward Mr. Everington proposed to Joe 
that they spend a Saturday afternoon at Bronx Park. 

“ Now I shall be taking you away from your work,” 
he said, “ and so I shall pay you for your time. I’m 
going to give you fifty cents, but you’ve got to earn it. 
You are to be the guide. Now you’ve got two days to 
get ready in. Go to the library near your lodging- 


222 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


house and find out how to get to Bronx Park, and 
what to see there. Now be sure to prepare yourself, 
for if you fail in this business, I shall not dare trust 
you with more important things.” 

Fortunately Nature had endowed the librarian of the 
branch near Joe’s lodging-house with great patience. 
Otherwise she must have been entirely worn out by her 
labors of the next two days. Joe thought that his Big 
Brother had never been to Bronx Park and that he 
wanted to see the most that could be seen in a single 
afternoon. Here was a chance to show his gratitude 
for his evening at the theatre. He pestered the 
librarian with a thousand questions as to what was to 
be seen in the great park and as to how to get there. 
The librarian got a map of the city, and together she 
and Joe traced out the routes until Joe knew them by 
heart. She got out every guide-book and other volume 
that contained any reference to this playground, and 
Joe pored through these with the utmost eagerness. 
When Saturday afternoon came Joe was brimming over 
with information about the park. 

He met his Big Brother at the latter’s office. 
“ Here’s a dollar, Joe,” said Mr. Everington. “ You 
are the guide, and you must pay all the bills and see 
that we get our money’s worth.” 

Joe conducted his Big Brother to the Third Avenue 
elevated railway. As they trundled along the East Side 


LEAENING BY OBSEEVATION 


223 


Joe kept up a continuous conversation about the won- 
ders of Bronx Park. It seemed to him as though they 
would never get there. At the 149th Street station 
the conductor called out, ‘‘ Change for the subway ! ” 

“We could have come by the subway and changed 
to the elevated here,” remarked Mr. Everington. 

“ We’d have landed at the same place,” said Joe. 

“We could have saved twenty minutes by the sub- 
way.” 

“ We’ve got all the afternoon,” said Joe. 

“All right, you are the guide,” said the lawyer 
smiling. 

They reached the park and went at once to the great 
hothouses. Never before had Joe seen anything like 
them. He was lost in wonder as they strolled along 
the fragrant aisles, between palm and fern, through 
rows of orchids and exotics, and past the commoner 
flowers of our own land banked in great masses, bright- 
ening the way with their gay colors, and scenting the 
air to the very top of the great glass dome. 

“ I didn’t know there was such a place in all the 
world,” gasped Joe when he had recovered from his 
amazement sufficiently to speak. 

They went on from place to place, visiting the 
museum, the hemlock grove and the Lorillard mansion, 
as the guide-books directed. J oe was not so much in 
terested in these things, for he was eager to get to the 


224 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


zoo. But when they came to the old-fashioned garden 
where had been Pierre Lorillard’s famous “acre of 
roses,” Joe’s delight knew no bounds. Nothing in the 
world pleased him more than flowers. They roamed 
from one flower-bed to another, finding variety after 
variety of old-fashioned blossoms ; and when Joe came 
across blooms like those he had known in his old home 
in Alabama, his cup of happiness ran over. 

At the entrance to the zoological park, they found 
on sale books describing the animals. Joe looked at 
them longingly. 

“ Shall we buy one ? ” he asked with hopeful 
timidity. 

“ You are the guide,” said Mr. Everington. “ You 
know we came here to learn something about these 
animals. If you think it worth while buy one.” 

“ They tell all about the animals,” said Joe, who had 
been looking them over longingly. “ I think that I’ll 
buy one.” He looked questioningly at Mr. Everington 
as he laid down the price and picked up the book, but 
the latter gave no indication of whether or not he ap- 
proved the purchase. 

From enclosure to enclosure they went swiftly, Joe 
reading the descriptions of the various animals. Pres- 
ently a man came up to them. 

“ Pardon me,” he said, “ but I’ve been trying for ten 
minutes to find out what kind of an animal this is. I 


LEAENING BY OBSEEVATION 


225 


see you have a guide-book. Would you be good enough 
to tell me ? ” 

Joe gave him the desired information. 

“Well, what do you think about the book now?” 
inquired Mr. Everington. “ Was it worth while get- 
ting it ? ” 

“ Sure,” said Joe. 

“Joe,” said Mr. Everington, “it’s always worth 
while to spend money if it will help you save time. 
Some day you will learn that time is money.” 

They went on through the lion house, the monkey 
house, the elephant house, past the bear dens, and the 
other enclosures. But before they had visited all the 
cages, the hour for closing came, and they had to leave 
the park. The prairie-dogs, which Joe wanted espe- 
cially to see, they missed, and the camels and giraffes. 
Joe was keenly disappointed. 

“ If we only had twenty minutes more,” he sighed, 
“we could see everything.” 

“ You could have had twenty minutes more,” replied 
Mr. Everington, “ if you had taken the subway instead 
of the elevated.” Joe made no reply ; but he did not 
forget the lesson. 

Some weeks later Mr. Everington said to Joe, “ Have 
you ever been to the Hippodrome ? ” 

“ Ho,” replied Joe. 

“Well, here’s two dollars.” Joe’s face lighted up 


226 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


‘with joy. Like every child he had heard of that won- 
derful show house. “ I want Helen to see this show,” 
said Mr. Everington, “ but I haven’t time to take her. 
You take her in my place. Buy your tickets early, or 
you may not be able to get good seats.” 

The light fled from Joe’s face. He handed the 
money back. “ I couldn’t,” he rejoined. “ All the 
guys at the lodging-house would kid the life out of me 
for goin’ with a skoit.” 

Mr. Everington was astonished, but he said merely, 
“ I’m sorry, Joe. You see, I didn’t understand. 
Among my friends all the boys and men think it is an 
honor to escort a girl or woman. Don’t you remember 
how proud the men looked at the theatre? But I 
don’t want you to do anything that will make you 
feel bad.” He pocketed the money and said no more 
about the matter. 

Some weeks later Joe came to him, and rather 
shamefacedly announced that he would be glad to 
take his sister to the Hippodrome if Mr. Everington 
still cared to send her. 

“ All right, Joe,” smiled Mr. Everington. “ Here’s 
the two dollars.” 

“ I thought it all over,” said Joe, “ and say — if any 
of those guys say anything to me, I’ll knock his block 
off.” 

If Joe could have seen the manly little figure that 


LEAENIKG BY OBSEEVATION 


227 


escorted Helen up the aisle of the Hippodrome the 
next Saturday afternoon he would never have be* 
lieved it was himself. The beautiful playhouse, the 
well-bred audience, the courtesy of men who had 
brought their wives or sweethearts, all made an in- 
delible impression on Joe. Never before had he paid 
any attention to the way “ nice ” men treated women. 
Now" he understood what Mr. Everington meant. The 
seed of chivalry took root in his heart. And Joe 
marched up the aisle with his sister as though it was 
the proudest moment of his life. Thus little by little 
did Mr. Everington plant in Joe’s soul the things that 
were lacking there. Thus were forged strong links in 
the chain of Joe’s character. 


CHAPTER XXI 


JOE AND THE GANG 


FTER all, a chain is no stronger than its weakest 



JljL link ; and Joe’s chain still contained many a 
feeble ring. His daily associations were in a way de- 
moralizing. The boys at the lodging-house were 
rough, crude little sons of toil. They were utterly 
lacking in refinement. Their speech and manners were 
coarse and vulgar. Their view of the world was sor- 
did. They pulled Joe one way, while Mr. Everington 
pulled the other. The saving feature of the situation 
was the fact that all had to work for their living. 
That gave them little time to foregather. 

But on holidays and Sundays, if they were not at 
work, the lodging-house boys often fared forth in 
groups in search of diversion. Joe naturally flocked 
with the youngsters of his own size, of whom there 
were several ; and though this group was neither 
vicious nor criminal, it was probably the most mis- 
chievous coterie at the lodging-house. Anything that 
offered sport, be it a trick on pedestrians or tantalizing 
watchmen, was game for this group. As the youngsters 
mingled freely with the little tenement dwellers in the 


228 


JOE AND THE GANG 


229 


neighborhood, they became unconsciously a part of a 
gang. 

On the Fourth of July Joe and his young associates 
sallied forth in quest of fun and excitement. In one 
of the public squares on the lower West Side they came 
upon a patriotic celebration. A stand had been erected, 
bunting was flying, and a brass band was playing 
national airs. The group gravitated to the little park. 
The musicians were Germans, rotund and bewhis- 
kered, and red in the face. They looked so much 
like the caricatures of the German so often seen in 
cheap theatres, that the little gangsters began to twit 
them at once. 

“ Hey, Dutchy ! ” yelled one of them. “ You’ll blow 
up if you don’t look out.” 

The red-faced tooter on the horn at whom these 
words were hurled was so fat and puffy, and his face, 
like a soap-bubble, was so distended that he did indeed 
look as though he might burst at any moment. Those 
who heard the gibe began to laugh. Thus encouraged, 
the youngsters pushed the attack. 

“ Stick a pin in him and see him bust ! ” shouted 
another of the youngsters. 

The tormented musician was sensitive about his 
appearance. He glared savagely at the boys, but 
kept on tooting his horn. During a lull in the music 
he was indiscreet enough to answer the attack. That 


230 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


showed the gang that their gibes had struck home. 
They redoubled their eiforts. 

“Look at de prize pig Mowin’ a horn,” sang out 
another. 

By this time everybody within ear-shot was laughing 
and the band was becoming confused. Suddenly Joe’s 
eyes began to twinkle. 

“ Come on,” he said to a comrade ; “ I just thought of 
something.” 

The two raced away toward the water-front and 
soon returned with their pockets bulging. They passed 
among their fellows and pressed something into the 
hand of each. The little gangsters scattered and 
worked their way close up around the stand. When 
the band began to play again, each youngster produced 
a lemon, bit off an end, and began to suck it. Soon 
the air was redolent of the acid odor. Mouths began 
to water. The musicians glared angrily but went on 
tooting. A sustained note from the fat man’s bass horn 
ended in a sudden quaver. A cornet player got off the 
key. The trombone was out of tune. The music be- 
came one great discord. One after another the players 
took their instruments from their lips and swallowed or 
spat. The gangsters kept on sucking their lemons, and 
even tearing them open to eat the flesh — and add to 
the smell. The band glared at them, angry and im- 
potent. The crowd was roaring with laughter. The 


JOE AND THE GANG 


231 


fat blower on the bass horn laid his instrument down, 
waddled oif the platform, and made for the nearest of- 
fender. Instantly the music ceased. The entire Ger- 
man band plunged from the platform, a perfect Niagara 
of fat men, and made after the young gangsters who 
were now in full flight, while the crowd roared advice 
and ironically applauded their vain attempts to over- 
take their agile tormentors. The little gangsters 
headed for the water-front and soon disappeared from 
sight. 

They went by the coal pier. There lay the Mattie 
Ford^ but Hawkins was nowhere visible. Joe’s con- 
science began to prick him, but he went on, thinking 
that he would not take part in any further mischief. 
Alas for Joe’s resolution ! The gang had gone no fur- 
ther than the garbage dump when Joe spied a mouse 
scuttling into a tin can. There wasn’t anything wrong 
in catching a mouse, he said to himself. He slipped up 
and snapped down the gaping cover of the can. He 
had the mouse captive. The gang gathered about 
him and peered through the cut in the cover at the 
little prisoner within. 

“ What’ll we do with him ? ” asked one. 

“ Let’s paint him,” sang out another, as his eye fell 
on an old paint pot that still held some red paint in the 
bottom. 

Several ineffectual methods were tried. Then Joe 


232 


HIS BIG BKOTHER 


suddenly pried up the lid of the can and dumped the 
mouse into the paint pot. The little creature could 
not get out, and as it tore around inside the can, it got 
redder and redder. Meantime the boys walked over to 
Broadway, where a procession was to pass. Here were 
great crowds and the little gangsters stopped. They 
had found a use for their red mouse. Joe suddenly 
catapulted the creature from the can to the sidewalk 
and stood by to await results. 

The mouse was so bedraggled with paint and so be- 
fuddled by its journey in the can and its violent drop 
to the sidewalk, that it made no attempt to run, but at 
first lay still. Then it sat up on its haunches and stared 
about. At this juncture it was espied by an Irishman 
who had been celebrating Independence Day since the 
evening before. He laid a trembling hand on the man 
who stood nearest to him. 

“ Me frind,” he said, “ aare yez sober ? ” 

“As sober as the statue o’ liberty,” rejoined the 
other. 

“ Is yer oisoight good, me frind ? ” 

“ I can see a dollar bill a mile off,” was the reply. 

“ Thin see if yez can see a mouse about foive feet 
away,” and he drew the man about. 

“ I do,” said the man, too much astonished at what 
he saw for further elaboration of speech. 

“ An’ phwat color nioight it be ? ” asked Pak 


JOE AND THE GANG 


233 


“ It’s a red mouse,” said the man. 

Pat wiped his forehead. Now may the saints be 
praised,” he said. “ Oi thought Oi had ’em again.” 

This bit of dialogue attracted attention to the mouse, 
which was now somewhat recovered. It started to 
run, but, apparently still dizzy, scooted around in a 
circle. A red mouse making circles was a novelty even 
for Broadway. The onlookers moved back from the 
curb and crowded about the mouse. Expressions of 
wonder arose. Those behind pressed forward to see 
what was doing. Presently the crowd was pushing in 
from all sides. A woman caught sight of the little 
creature and screamed long and lustily. In an instant 
the thoroughfare was in a turmoil. Every one thought 
that a woman was being robbed or insulted. Strong 
men pushed through the crowd jabbing their elbows 
right and left. Those jabbed took offense. In a min- 
ute half a dozen fights were raging and Broadway was 
in uproar. The mounted police came charging up and 
forced their horses into the crowd. The patrolmen on 
foot fought their way toward the disturbance, pushing 
and battering those who hindered them. Broadway 
was on the verge of a riot. Meantime the youthful 
gangsters had fied to more healthful quarters, and the 
innocent mouse had scuttled into a sewer opening. 

Joe and his comrades, safe around a corner, were 
roaring with laughter over their escapade, when a 


234 


HIS BIG BKOTHER 


gong was heard clanging and an ambulance drove by. 
Joe looked at it quizzically. When it returned a few 
minutes later, bearing a stiff and bleeding victim of 
their joke, the laughter fled from Joe’s lips. Bitterly 
he reproached himself. It cut him to the quick to 
think what his Big Brother would say when he learned 
of the day’s doings. But like many another offender, 
Joe did not immediately separate himself from evil 
associations. All the band were sobered now, and 
Joe continued with them. And so once more he un- 
wittingly got into difficulty. 

Throughout the day there was no further attempt at 
mischief, but at night, while abroad to view the fire- 
works, the lodging-house lads fell in with some of their 
tenement house friends. Their number grew until they 
had a gang of fully a hundred boys. They were head- 
ing for the water-front where an unobstructed view 
could be had of the river shores and the fireworks 
both in New Jersey and in Manhattan. It seemed as 
though fate were continually calling Joe back to the 
water-front where he was forever getting into trouble. 
Before Joe knew what was happening, he found him- 
self in a gang fight. 

His crowd had bumped into the Hudson Dusters, a 
juvenile gang that had long been one of the terrors 
of the lower West Side of Manhattan. Between the 
Dusters and the tenement house lads in Joe’s band 


JOE AKD THE GANG 


235 


raged an inextinguishable feud. No sooner had the 
two companies come together than there was a lively 
scrimmage. It was a case of fight or take a whipping, 
and Joe cast prudence to the winds and sailed in with 
both fists. Fortunately neither gang was armed, so no 
one was seriously hurt. After the first clash, the com- 
batants drew apart, seeking for more effective weapons 
than bare knuckles. They searched the ash cans, 
took toll of the garbage pails, and filled their pockets 
with every missile they could find. Then they re- 
turned to the attack. 

Stones began to fly, and old bottles, and bits of 
metal, and decaying vegetables. Fusillades of missiles 
filled the street. The noise of battle rent the air. 
Window lights were broken, woodwork scarred and 
mutilated, and not a few pedestrians struck. A mail- 
carrier, collecting letters, was cut by a flying bottle. 
He stepped to a telephone and called for the police. 
Meanwhile the gangsters fought on, ignorant of the 
vengeance that was preparing for them. 

Joe knew well that he had no business in this affray, 
but he had been caught unawares, and being in, he 
resolved to do what Polonius advised — bear it out. 
Perhaps he was the more inclined thereto from the 
fact that his left eye was swollen and rapidly turning 
black. He was pegging away at the enemy from the 
partial protection of a projecting saloon side door 


236 


HIS BIG BROTHEB 


when a bluecoat slipped around the corner behind 
him. Joe did not observe him. But the bluecoat saw 
Joe. Indeed no one could have failed to notice Joe. 
He stood with the tin cover of an old wash-boiler held 
in his left hand, like a gladiator’s shield, while in his 
right hand he carried a catsup bottle. As he drew 
back his arm to throw, he saw the advancing policeman 
out of the corner of his eye. Catsup bottle and tin 
shield fell to the sidewalk with a clang. 

“ Cheese it, de cops ! ” called Joe, the while he 
darted around the corner. But the policeman was 
close at his heels, and in another instant J oe was once 
more in the hands of the law. 

Bitterly he wept that night, when they put him to 
bed at the Children’s Society. But the fear that wet 
his eyes had in it no thought of what might happen to 
Joe Wainright. He was thinking only of his Big 
Brother, and the fact that he had betrayed his bene- 
factor’s trust in him. And when some of his fellow 
unfortunates twitted him with cowardice, not under- 
standing the cause of his tears, Joe raged through the 
dormitory as fiery as a bobcat, daring his tormentors 
to measure punches with him. 


CHAPTEK XXII 


FOKGIVEN 

T he hours that passed before Joe’s arraignment 
again in Judge Wilmot’s court were hours of 
actual torture to Joe. Had he been mentally dull, or 
of a less sensitive nature, he might have been stolid 
enough in his consideration of his situation. But the 
very keenness and sensitiveness that made him so ap- 
preciative of his Big Brother’s kindnesses now caused 
him immeasurable grief. His feelings were poignant. 
His regret stabbed him mercilessly. He had betrayed 
his Big Brother’s confidence. He had repaid his kind- 
nesses by doing that which would cause him grief. 
That was the burden of Joe’s thoughts. Never a 
whimper did he waste on himself. He hardly thought 
about Joe Wainright, except as the instrument of the 
harm that he thought had come to Mr. Everington. 
In fact he did not care what became of Joe Wainright. 
He had taken care of himself too long to be worried 
over any such trivial matter. But over and over in his 
mind the thought recurred that he had brought sorrow 
to his Big Brother. 

Of course he should be roundly scolded by both the 
237 


238 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


Judge and Mr. Everington. Well, let them scold. He 
deserved it. The scolding was not what mattered. 
Behind the scolding would be lost faith. E’o more 
could his Big Brother feel confidence in him ; no more 
could he trust him. He had forfeited the right to be 
trusted. And if his Big Brother had lost faith in him, 
Joe could no more endure to see his Big Brother. He 
must go away, he must run off, and hide himself so 
that his Big Brother should never see him again. That 
would be easy, for, of course, his Big Brother would 
make no attempt to find him. Probably he would feel 
relieved to find Joe had gone. For Joe could not fancy 
himself as ever caring for an ingrate, and he had only 
his own mind by which to measure Mr. Everington’s. 

It was settled. He would run away as soon as he 
was free. He began to plan his escape, where he 
should go, what he should do, how he should hide if — 
if they should hunt for him. For in his heart lurked 
the unacknowledged hope that his Big Brother would 
look for him. Perhaps the Judge would let him go 
with a reprimand. He would try to get off that way. 
Then he could hurry away and disappear before ever 
his Big Brother heard of his difficulty. He should not 
have to face his Big Brother and hear the words of 
scorn and contempt that he knew would be his just due. 

Thus, after hours of mental struggle, during which 
he fiercely and resolutely crushed down the desire that 


FOEGIVEN 


239 


lurked in the back of his heart to go to his Big Brother 
on his knees and beg for one more chance, he set his 
face like a flint toward the accomplishment of his pur- 
pose — to get free and be off before he had to face the 
man whose kindness he had repaid with betrayal and 
disgrace. And so he entered the court-room. 

There to his utter consternation and undoing, sitting 
beside the Judge where first he had seen him, sat Mere- 
dith Everington. But his face was very different now. 
His expression was utterly unlike that with which he 
had surveyed this little court on the day of his first 
visit. How his countenance betrayed a feeling of in- 
terest and kindliness. And this in itself upset all Joe’s 
resolutions. Had he seen the hard look of scorn he had 
expected his Big Brother to wear, he could have steeled 
his heart and borne up. But the affectionate glance 
that Mr. Everington turned on him completely broke 
him down. In an instant the tears were glistening on 
his cheeks. To Mr. Everington those tear-drops were 
as welcome as the first flowers of spring. Knowing 
Joe’s strong nature, he had feared from the moment 
that Judge Wilmot telephoned him about Joe that he 
might find his Little Brother sulky and rebellious. But 
he had not reckoned on Joe’s deep affection for him. 
In fact he did not really know the depth of the 
lad’s love for him. But the glistening tear-drops reas- 
sured him instantly. He flashed a swift smile at Joe. 


240 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


“ Let me take him inside and talk to him,” he said, 
turning to Judge Wilmot. “This is no place to deal 
with such a sensitive little fellow as Joe.” 

Big Brother and Little met a moment later in the 
solitude of the Judge’s chambers. Joe could still 
hardly credit his senses. Mr. Everington must be 
angry. And when the latter came forward with out- 
stretched hand and said with a smile, “ I’m glad to see 
you, Joe,” the little offender was shocked into his old 
habit of speech and blurted out, “ The hell you are ! ” 

“ I shall not be if you don’t stop using such lan- 
guage,” said Mr. Everington, but his tone was all gen- 
tleness. 

Joe was completely broken up. He started a tear- 
ful recital of his misdeeds and Mr. Everington listened 
until he understood thoroughly why Joe was in the 
toils. Then he thought Joe had done penance enough. 
He knew that the lad’s own heart would do more to 
keep him straight in future than any amount of ad- 
monition, so he merely said, “ W ell, I’m glad to know 
how it happened. But I haven’t time to talk any 
longer, Joe. I’ll ask Judge Wilmot to discharge you, 
and you come to my office at five. We are going to 
have dinner at home to-night, you and I.” 

Joe could not believe his ears. This was the thing 
Mr. Everington had so often spoken of, this was the 
prize Joe had been struggling for — a visit to his Big 


FORGIVEN 


241 


Brother’s house. He was actually going home with 
this great lawyer, going to eat at his table, to talk with 
his prett}’’ wife, to see his elegant mansion. And he 
was going to do it now — after he had done wrong. 
Joe couldn’t believe it. 

“ Do you mean it ? ” he cried. 

“ Certainly,” rejoined Mr. Everington. 

“ On the level ? Cross your heart ? ” 

“ Most assuredly, Joe. Be at my office at five 
sharp. And don’t disappoint me. Good-bye.” And 
he left Joe in a shower of happy tears. 

Don’t disappoint me ! ” As though he could be 
either absent or late! This was the thing he had 
looked forward to for weeks. And after Judge Wil- 
mot had discharged him, with a kindly reprimand, he 
hastened to his usual stand to sell his papers ; but all 
day long he kept running out into the middle of the 
street and looking up at the great clock on the Metro- 
politan tower to see if it was yet time to go to Mr. 
Everington’s office. He started for lower Broadway at 
two o’clock and spent two good hours impatiently 
wandering about the neighborhood of the tall building 
in which his Big Brother had his offices. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

THE STOEY OF ME. EVEEINOTON’S LIFE 

J OE’S high spirits underwent a sudden eclipse the 
moment he set foot in Mr. Everington’s home. 
The liveried, servant at the door, who obsequiously 
took his cap, confused him, and the elegance of the 
place served to embarrass him still further. Once, in 
those distant days in Alabama, Joe had been inside the 
home of a great planter ; and in his imagination he had 
pictured his Big Brother’s house as being not unlike 
that old plantation home, though he thought it might 
perhaps be finer. But he was utterly unprepared for 
the elegance and beauty that greeted him. The 
wonderful hangings and paintings on the walls, the 
beautiful furniture, the marvelous floor-coverings, the 
general air of luxury that pervaded the entire establish- 
ment, all served to abash Joe. He was dumb with 
amazement. He felt out of place. 

As his self-possession left him, there came in its place 
a consciousness of awkwardness and a fear that he 
would commit some blunder. And as dinner pro- 
ceeded, he became increasingly aware that his manners 
were rude. It was the awakening of social conscious- 
242 


THE STOKY OF ME. EVEEINGTON’S LIFE 243 


ness in Joe. Once his Big Brother had given him as a 
good rule of conduct the injunction, ‘‘ When you are in 
Eome, do as the Eomans do.” He thought of that 
now, and though he was utterly confused by the 
rapidly appearing courses of food and the array of 
knives, forks, and spoons at his place, he stealthily 
watched his hosts and did the best he could to imitate 
them, dropping his fork as seldom as possible, and try- 
ing to make intelligible replies to the remarks ad- 
dressed to him. 

Little by little his embarrassment wore off. Mrs. 
Everington was very gracious to Joe. Both she and 
her husband did their best to put him at his ease ; and 
his diffidence would have worn off immediately had it 
not been for the servants. Their stares confused him. 
Mrs. Everington rightly divined the cause of Joe’s con- 
tinued discomfiture, and when the last bit of food had 
been brought in, she ordered the servants to leave the 
room. Very soon thereafter Joe’s spirits came out 
from under the eclipse, and he was once more his usual 
smiling self — but with this difference : he had accumu- 
lated the rudiments of good table manners. For Joe 
never let anything escape his eye. By the time the 
three left the dinner table, Joe was really happy. 

As they entered the library Joe gave a little cry of 
delight. Being mentally acute, Joe had long ago 
learned to like books. In them he found delights that 


244 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


were denied him elsewhere. From this moment he 
loved books. Before him he saw row upon row of 
books, making not merely the appeal that always goes 
with assembled volumes, but the appeal of a library set 
in alluring surroundings. The walls of the room were 
of a soft brown tint, with which the simple hangings 
were in perfect harmony. The few pictures blended 
with their background. Even the hardwood floor, the 
rich rugs, and the inviting fireplace, now dark, added 
to the harmonies of color. There was nothing that 
startled the eye or compelled attention. Only the 
books stood forth. And to these was added the sense 
of charm and comfort lent by the setting. There was 
some indefinable quality about this room that filled the 
heart with a pleasant glow like old wine. 

1^0 w utterly lost to self, Joe wandered up and down 
the long rows of books. Mr. Everington was beside 
him, while Mrs. Everington sat by the heavy oak table 
knitting in the soft glow of a brownish-yellow reading 
lamp. To Joe’s surprise he found many books that he 
had read and liked — “ Kidnapped,” and “ Treasure Is- 
land,” and “ Eobinson Crusoe,” and others — and the 
knowledge that Mr. Everington also loved these books 
was to Joe another bond of sympathy between himself 
and his Big Brother. 

When the two had tired of looking at books, they 
drew some low chairs up beside the table, and sitting 


THE STOEY OE MR. EVEEIKGTON’S LTEE 245 


there face to face in the lamplight, the one told, the 
other heard, a story that neither ever forgot. 

“ Over in the hills of Essex County, a dozen miles 
from New York,” said Mr. Everington, “ there was a 
lad of your age, Joe, who lived with his father on a 
worn-out farm. His father was a poor farmer. He 
did not like farming. He had become a farmer be- 
cause he had inherited the farm from his father, and 
having always lived on a farm, he did not know any 
other way to earn a living. So he lived all his life on 
the worn-out farm, which gradually grew poorer and 
poorer, until at last it would produce almost nothing. 
Yet he kept on farming it, for it was the only way he 
had to get any food at all. And by the time this little 
boy I am going to tell you about was as old as you are, 
his father was worn out and the boy himself had to do 
most of the work. It looked as though the boy would 
have to stay on the farm and wear his life out, too, 
working himself to death merely to get enough food to 
eat. You know what that means, don’t you, Joe ? ” 

Without pausing for a reply, Mr. Everington went 
on, bending forward with his elbows on his knees, and 
his eyes level with Joe’s. 

“ It was a pretty dreary prospect for this little boy. 
He wanted books to read; he wanted to go to the 
theatre he had heard about ; he wanted nice clothes ; 
he wanted to live in a comfortable house — he wanted 


246 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


lots of things, but there was no money for any of them. 
He was lucky if he got enough to eat. And it looked 
as though he would have to stay on that farm for life. 
It was pretty hard, Joe, wasn’t it ? Almost as bad as 
having to spend your life on a coal barge.” 

Joe started to say something, but Mr. Everington 
silenced him with a gesture, and went on, “ But one 
day something happened. There was a big crop on 
the early fall apple-trees that September, and the little 
boy’s father, thinking he could get some cash, filled 
three barrels and sent the little boy to Hew York with 
them. The father was not well enough to go himself. 

“ It was a pretty big thing for a little boy to drive 
all the way to the city and sell those apples, but he did 
it. He was so eager to see the great city that he didn’t 
care if his old wagon did rattle and his horse look as 
though it would die in the shafts. He was too happy 
to hear the laughter his appearance aroused. He drove 
on and on and got aboard a ferry-boat and went across 
the river, landing in Hew York on the water-front, 
just as you did, Joe, and looking just as ragged, and 
feeling just as bad in his heart as you did. But he 
found the market and sold his apples. 

“ And all the while his heart was crying out for free- 
dom, just as yours did, Joe. He didn’t want to go 
back to that farm. He hated it just as much as you 
hated the Mattie Ford. But he had to go back be- 


THE STORY OF MR. EVERINGTON’S LIFE 247 


cause he had the horse with him, and without the horse 
his father and mother would have starved. So he went 
back. But before he went, he asked a marketman for 
a job. The marketman offered him two dollars a 
week. You know how little that is, Joe, but it seemed 
like a great sum to the little boy. His father didn’t get 
two dollars in cash in a month. 

“ That fall, when all the work was done, the little 
boy left home and walked to New York. The market- 
man had died, and the boy hadn’t a cent. He had to 
walk the street all night and go hungry. But next 
day he got a job. The pay was just the same as he 
had been offered by the marketman — two dollars a 
week. You know what it is like to live in New 
York on two dollars a week, Joe.” 

Joe nodded his head. 

“ Well, this little boy did it for nearly a year. Then 
he got a better job which paid him three dollars, and 
after a time he got four. But there wasn’t any pros- 
pect of advancement in that job, and he looked about 
for another. Pretty soon he got a place as office boy 
in a lawyer’s office. He liked this. There were books 
to read, even if they were law books, and there was a 
chance to learn and get ahead. So the little boy, who 
was getting to be a big boy now, began to read the 
law books when he had time, and to go to the libraries 
and read other books, and then he began to attend 


248 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


night school. When his employer saw that he was 
ambitious, he helped the boy along. After a time the 
boy became a clerk. He was admitted to the bar. 
And then he set up an office for himself. Whose name 
do you think was on his sign ? ” 

A great light came into Joe’s eyes. “ It was yours,” 
he said eagerly. 

It was, Joe.” 

“ And did you come to 'New York a poor boy just 
like me ? ” demanded Joe incredulously. 

“ Yes, Joe.” 

“ And didn’t you have nobody to help you either ? ” 

“ No, Joe, not for a long time, not until I worked in 
the law office.” 

For a time there was silence. Joe was contrasting 
the Meredith Everington he knew with the Meredith 
Everington he had just heard about. “ Did you do it 
all yourself?” he asked suddenly, forgetful that his 
thoughts were not visible to others. 

But Mr. Everington understood. “ Yes, Joe,” he 
said. 

Again Joe was silent. Suddenly he piped out, “ Did 
you have to have working papers before you got a 
job ? ” And immediately afterward he asked, “ How 
long did it take you, Mr. Everington ? ” 

“ It was forty years ago to-day that I came to New 
York,” replied Mr. Everington. “ That is why I 


THE STORY OF MR. EVERINGTON’S LIFE 249 


asked you to dinner, Joe. I’m celebrating the anni- 
versary.” 

Joe’s face fell. “ Forty years ! ” he repeated. 
“ Forty years ! ” 

“ Oh, it didn’t take me forty years to succeed, Joe,” 
interrupted Mr. Everington with a laugh. “ Before I 
had been here ten years I was earning more money 
than I ever knew existed when I left the farm.” 

“ How’d you do it ? ” demanded Joe. 

“ By hard work, Joe. I made up my mind as to 
what I wanted to do and then stuck to it. There isn’t 
anything wonderful about it. Lots of men have done 
the same thing. Anybody can win out, if he will work 
hard and stick to his purpose.” 

“ And own a house like this,” queried Joe, his eyes 
ablaze, “ and as many books as that ? ” and he pointed 
to the shelves behind him. 

“ Yes, Joe,” smiled Mr. Everington, ‘‘ just as fine a 
house and even more books if he wants them.” 

Joe had not been the only interested listener. Not 
a word had escaped Mrs. Everington as she sat with 
flying fingers, apparently engrossed in knitting, but 
really wrapt up in the story of her husband’s life. It 
was as much news to her as it was to Joe. Yaguely 
she knew that her husband had been poor and that he 
had worked his way up to his present position by un- 
told labors. But long before she knew her husband, 


250 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


the worn-out farmer father and mother in Essex County 
had been laid to rest, and the little farm sold. And as 
Mr. Everington was an only child, there was nothing 
left in his life to connect him with the humble home in 
the Jersey hills — nothing except memories, that had 
long been allowed to lie dormant. 

Of those early years of privation and hardship Mrs. 
Everington knew practically nothing. She had come 
into Mr. Everington’s life at a time when he was rich 
and successful. Being herself of a wealthy family, she 
had felt little interest in her husband’s obscure past, 
and he had told her little concerning it. So the tale 
of those youthful struggles came to her ear as freshly 
as they did to Joe’s. 

At heart she was good and her love for her husband 
was genuine. She was as much a victim of circum- 
stances as Joe. Her indifference to the lowly was due 
to no hardness of heart, but to her youthful upbring- 
ing. Eags and filth were repulsive to her and she 
had never been taught to be considerate of those less 
fortunate than herself. To her the poor had ever been 
as an alien race. But ever since Joe had brought the 
roses to her cheeks at the ferry that afternoon with 
his naive comment on her beauty, her human sym- 
pathies had been growing. How, after Joe had said 
good-night, she came to where her husband had seated 
himself in an easy chair, laid her hand affectionately 


THE STORY OP MR. EYERIKGTON’S LIFE 261 


on his shoulder, and said in a low, gentle voice, 
“ Meredith, I am so sorry that I tried to keep you from 
helping Joe. I did not understand. I did not know 
that you had had trouble like Joe’s. You owed it to 
yourself to help Joe. You will forgive me, won’t 
you ? ” 

Long after Mr. Everington lovingly kissed his wife 
in answer, he sat in his library alone, his elbows on his 
knees, his face pillowed in his hands, staring into the 
shadows. He was living over again, as he had not 
done these many years past, those youthful days of 
hardship and struggle. He remembered how bitter 
the fight had been. He recalled how he had yearned 
for sympathy, for friendship, for the love of some one, 
any one, so that he could feel that some human being 
cared for him. He remembered his gratitude to his 
lawyer employer for his friendly interest and help. 
How much it had meant to him. Ah, how much ! 
And it had come at a time when he needed help most. 
And as he rose and left the room, he muttered to him- 
self, “ To think that I should ever have forgotten.” 


CHAPTER XXIY 


CONCERNING A YELLOW DOG 
OR the next few days Joe’s head was in a whirl. 



A He went about like one in a dream. Mr. Ever- 
ington’s carefully planned object-lesson had done its 
work. Joe was thinking about the future — a future 
still vague and nebulous, but a future that had sud- 
denly taken on a rosy tint. He kept repeating over 
and over in his mind his Big Brother’s declaration that 
“ Anybody can win out if he will work hard and stick 
to his purpose.” 

When he thought of Mr. Everington it all seemed 
easy. But when he thought of Joe Wainright, the 
task seemed hard enough, and he was assailed by 
doubts and fears. So his moods alternated. How he 
was downcast, now raised up. The memory of his 
months of struggle always left him feeling despondent. 
The thought of his Big Brother as inevitably cheered 
him. Mr. Everington had said it could be done — and 
he had the proof. He had the house and the books. 
But how had he gotten them ? 

That query made Joe gloomy for long periods, for he 
remembered well that Mr. Everington had said to him, 


252 


CONCEENING A YELLOW DOG 


263 


I made up my mind as to what I wanted to do and 
then I stuck to it.” Joe’s trouble was that he could 
not make up his mind as to what he wanted to do. 
The divine call to labor had not yet reached him. He 
was ready enough to work. Indeed the little philos- 
opher had more than once said to himself, “We’ve got 
to work anyhow, so why not work a little harder and 
get somewhere ? ” The difficulty was that he felt no 
desire for any one kind of labor in preference to any 
other^ 

Fortunately Joe had long ago come to appreciate the 
value of education, and he resolved that although he 
could not now make choice of a calling, he would at 
least study hard in school. The fall term would open 
in a few days, and henceforth he would be a full time 
pupil. His fourteenth birthday would come to him 
during the winter, but as he was still a little behind in 
his studies, because of the months he had spent on the 
streets, he would have to continue at school for a time 
after his birthday. But he hoped to get his working 
papers by spring and find a job. 

As soon as he earned enough, he could bring his 
mother from the hospital, and with Henry and Helen 
they would have a home again, just as they had in 
Alabama. Joe’s mother had recently been sent to a 
sanitarium in the Adirondacks, so he no longer saw 
her ; but he got occasional letters from her and she was 


254 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


fast getting well. Henry he saw at intervals, and the 
lad was stronger and healthier looking than he had 
been before. 

Helen was doing well. Twice she had been pro- 
moted, and now she was getting eight dollars a week. 
If Joe could earn four or five, their combined earnings 
would support the home they both so much yearned 
for. Joe saw Helen at frequent intervals and always 
they talked about the day when they should all be to- 
gether again. Had it not been for Helen, the flame of 
Joe’s ambition to make a home for his mother might 
have burned out during those hard months in the 
streets, but Helen had been as a lodestar to him, and 
Joe’s purpose had grown stronger rather than become 
weaker. 

But since his visit to the home of his Big Brother, 
Joe’s purpose was beginning to alter very greatly. He 
did not for an instant abandon the idea of a simple lit- 
tle home where the family could be reunited, but he 
was beginning to see beyond this first home and to 
hope for something far different. Assuredly Mr. Ever- 
ington had been successful in his plan to rouse Joe’s 
ambition. 

As Joe called his papers and dodged among the shift- 
ing crowd these September days, his mind was busy 
with the future. Mechanically he cried out the head- 
lines, and more than once he drew execrations upon his . 


CONCERNmG A YELLOW DOG 


255 


head by carelessly bumping into pedestrians or treading 
on tender feet. Always there was in his mind the lit- 
tle home of the immediate future and behind that stood 
a greater house, filmy and indistinct in all particulars 
except as to the library. That was a soft brown room, 
with long rows of books, an inviting fireplace, and a 
brownish-yellow reading lamp on a heavy oak table. 
That was what Joe saw when his vision was rosy ; and 
when it was dark he saw nothing but a cloud. 

He was mentally looking at this soft brown reading- 
room one afternoon, mechanically handing out his 
papers, while watching his mother knit by the heavy 
oak table, while Henry played at jackstraws on the 
floor, and Helen read a book, when he was suddenl}^ 
shocked into consciousness of time and place by the dis- 
tressed yelping of a dog. For all dumb animals Joe 
had nothing in his heart but kindness. Hot far up the 
street — almost where he had been arrested for defend- 
ing Henry, in fact — he saw a ring of boys. From that 
ring came the yelps. Joe knew the little gangsters were 
torturing a dog. His head went hot and his eyes 
blazed. He handed his papers to a fellow newsy and 
sped up the avenue to the little group on the sidewalk. 
There he saw two boys on their knees trying to tie a 
can to a yellow dog^s tail, while the group around them 
looked on and applauded. Joe shouldered his way 
through the ring. 


256 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


“ Whatcha doin’ with that dog ? ” he demanded 
fiercely. 

“ Watch a bit and you’ll see,” answered one of the 
boys. 

‘‘ I’ve seen enough,” responded Joe. “ Cut it out.” 

The lad sprang to his feet. He was half a head taller 
than Joe. “ You must be lookin’ for trouble,” he said 
with a sneer. 

‘‘ You ain’t a-goin’ to tie that can to his tail,” retorted 
Joe. 

“ I don’t see nobody that can stop me.” 

“ Take the string off,” cried Joe, a fierce light in his 
eyes. 

“ You’re pretty fresh,” was the retort. “ Beat it be- 
fore I bust your eye.” 

Joe saw he had to fight. He waited for no further 
parley. Quick as a flash he struck out, hitting the 
lad square on the nose. The blood spurted and the 
boy jumped away, stumbling over the dog, and falling 
backward across his companion who was still busily 
trying to get the string around the squirming animal’s 
tail. He bumped his head hard and made no effort to 
renew the fight. But the second boy sprang up and 
came at Joe like a whirlwind. All Joe’s fighting 
instincts were roused. He met the rush firmly, and 
although this boy, too, was taller than himself he 
stood his ground and returned blow for blow. The 


CONCERNING A YELLOW DOG 


257 


dog, finding itself suddenly free, tried to break through 
the circle of boys, but failing, crouched down behind 
Joe, as though it knew Joe was its one friend. So 
matters stood, with Joe and his antagonist stubbornly 
exchanging punch for punch and neither yielding an 
inch, when the familiar cry went up, “ Cheese it, de 
cop.” 

Every lad in the group but Joe took to his heels. 
Joe bent over to see if the little dog was hurt. He 
was conscious of no wrong-doing and he did not intend 
to run when he was innocent. When the policeman 
arrived, Joe was on one knee caressing the dog. He 
looked up at the patrolman with a smile. It was the 
same policeman that had arrested him almost two 
years before. But Joe had grown so that the patrol- 
man did not recognize him. 

“ Come on,” said the bluecoat gruffly, catching Joe 
by the shoulder. 

“What for ? ” asked Joe, holding back. 

“ You know very well what for, you little devil — for 
fighting.” 

“ I did it to save this dog,” explained Joe. “ They 
were going to tie a tin can on his tail.” 

“ Tell it to the lieutenant,” said the policeman. 
“ Come on.” And he began to drag Joe away. 

Joe knew the futility of either pleas or arguments. 
He knew there was only one power that could get him 


258 HIS BIG BEOTHER 

free. “ Will you let me telephone my Big Brother ? ” 
he asked. 

“Your big brother can’t help you,” retorted the 
policeman. 

“ He did the other time you pinched me,” answered 
Joe. 

The policeman stopped and took a good look at Joe. 
The face began to seem familiar to him. “What’s 
your name ? ” he asked. 

“Joe Wainright,” was the reply. 

“ No Wainright ever got one of my prisoners off,” 
said the policeman. 

“ But that ain’t my Big Brother’s name,” urged Joe. 
And seeing the policeman’s look of astonishment, he 
added, “ He ain’t really my brother. He just calls 
himself that.” 

“ I see,” said the bluecoat. “ One of those mission- 
ary guys. What’s his name ? ” 

“ It’s Everington,” said Joe. 

The policeman stopped in his tracks. “ Are you that 
kid ? ” he asked in astonishment. 

“ Sure,” said Joe. “ I want to telephone Mr. Ever- 
ington.” 

The bluecoat paid no heed to the request. “ Did you 
say you were fighting for this dog ? ” he asked, point- 
ing to the little animal which had followed Joe. 

“ That’s what I have been tryin’ to make you under- 


CONCERNING A YELLOW DOG 259 

stand,” said Joe. “ They was goin’ to tie a tin can on 
his tail.” 

“Then it’s the other little devils that ought to be 
arrested,” said the policeman. 

“ Sure,” said Joe. 

“ Well, I’ll let you go,” said the bluecoat. “ Now 
beat it. And don’t you dare get into any more 
fights.” 

Joe went back to his work, and the yellow dog fol- 
lowed at his heels. All of the afternoon the little dog 
squatted near Joe, and when supper-time came, fol- 
lowed Joe and his newsboy friend to the lodging- 
house. 

“ Where can we put him ? ” asked Joe. 

“Are you goin’ to keep him?” asked the other 
newsy. 

“ Sure,” said Joe. 

“ Where ? ” 

“ That’s what I’m askin’ you about. I don’t know. 
But anyhow I’ll take him to bed with me to-night and 
try to find a place for him to-morrow.” 

“ It’s against the rules,” said the newsy. 

“ But he’s got to have some place to sleep,” retorted 
Joe, “ and he’ll get lost again if I leave him out in the 
street.” 

“ You ain’t going to bring him to supper, is you?” 
asked the newsy. 


260 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


“ No,” said Joe. “ They’d see him in there.” 

“ Then what is you goin’ to do ? ” 

“ ITl tell you what,” said Joe, a plan suddenly coming 
into his mind. “ You go in and eat and I’ll stay with 
the dog. And when you get through, you come on 
out and keep him while I eat. When it’s bedtime I’ll 
take him up-stairs with me.” 

Everything worked right. The little chums ate 
separately, and when the hour for sleep had come, Joe 
tucked the mongrel under his coat. 

“ Don’t you say a word,” he whispered to the dog, 
and the little beast was as quiet as though it under- 
stood. Five minutes later Joe was in bed with the 
mongrel in his arms, its head just showing on the 
pillow beside Joe’s. 

Some of the older lads at the lodging-house were 
always up early in the morning to handle the first edi- 
tions of the newspapers. One of these, dressing next 
morning, espied the black nose and yellow face peeping 
out of Joe’s cot. “ Look at de mutt,” he said to an- 
other. Going down-stairs he said to the clerk, “ Dere’s 
a kid up-stairs sleeping with a ki-yi. It’s dat little 
Wainright kid.” 

The clerk wrathfully mounted to the dormitory and 
awoke Joe from a pleasant dream. He unceremoni- 
ously yanked the dog from under the covers, and gave 
the startled lad a sharp reprimand. Then he took the 


CONCERNIKG A YELLOW BOG 


261 


yelping mongrel by the back of the neck and started 
down-stairs. 

Joe jumped out of bed, his eyes ablaze. ‘‘Stop 
that,” he commanded. “That’s my dog.” 

The clerk made no pause, and the dog continued to 
yelp shrilly. Joe started to dress, but seeing that he 
would be too late, he dashed, barefooted and still in his 
nightshirt, after the retreating clerk. The clerk had 
thrown the dog into the street and set it running with 
a kick, when Joe reached the foot of the stairs. Joe 
was just in time to see the kick. His head went hot at 
the sight, and before he realized what he was doing, he 
had struck the clerk full in the breast. The clerk was 
angry. For an instant he looked as though he would 
return the blow. Then he got his temper in hand and 
said sternly, “ Go back and dress yourself, and then 
get out of here. Don’t you ever let me see you again.” 

J oe went slowly up-stairs. Gradually he calmed down 
and began to think. He saw that he had been wrong. 
He swallowed his pride and went down to the office. 

“ I’m sorry I hit you,” he said. “ Please forgive me. 
I got hot-headed.” 

“You can’t stay here any longer,” said the clerk. 
“ You’re too dangerous. Get your things and go.” 

In vain did Joe plead. When at last he saw that 
his entreaties were of no use, he sadly got together the 
few articles that he owned, and went out into the world 


262 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


again. The lodging-house was like home to him now. 
But it was not the thought of leaving this familiar 
spot, nor fear of facing the cold world, that brought 
the blinding tears into Joe’s eyes as he swung the door 
shut behind him and said farewell to the Lurie. It 
was the realization that again he had proved unworthy 
of his Big Brother’s confidence. He must go to him 
and tell him that he had once more disgraced himself. 
With a heavy heart and leaden feet, he turned his face 
toward Broadway, to seek his Big Brother in his office 
and tell him the whole shameful story. Try as he 
would, it seemed as though he could not keep out of 
trouble. 


CHAPTER XXV 


JOE FINDS A NEW BOARDING PLACE 

O NLY once before had Joe come to Mr. Evering- 
ton’s office unbidden — on the occasion of his 
mother’s trouble with Hawkins after her visit to the 
dispensary — and Mr. Everington knew well that some 
difficulty must be behind this visit also. So once again 
he laid his work aside and had Joe admitted to his pri- 
vate office. 

Joe came in shamefaced and confused, his eyes on 
the floor. Mr. Everington looked at him keenly, but 
said nothing. He waited for Joe to speak. Presently 
Joe looked up and the tears were rolling down his 
cheeks. 

“ I can’t live at the lodging-house no longer,” he 
faltered. “ I hit the clerk — and they put me out — 
and I want you to forgive me.” Then the little head 
hung down again. 

“ You struck the clerk, Joe,” said Mr. Everington in 
astonishment, and his tone was severe. ‘‘ Why did you 
do that ? ” 

“ He kicked my dog and I got hot-headed and hit 
him,” said Joe. “ I know I hadn’t oughta done it.” 

263 


261 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


“ Your dog ! I didn’t know you had a dog.” 

“ I didn’t till yesterday,” said Joe. “ And the clerk 
yanked him out of my bed and dragged him down- 
stairs and kicked him into the street, and I got hot- 
headed and hit him.” 

In spite of himself Mr. Everington laughed. “A 
dog in your bed, Joe ! ” he said. “ I don’t wonder the 
clerk threw him out. That’s no place for a dog.” 

“But he hadn’t oughta kicked him,” said Joe, “and 
where else could I keep him ? If I’d left him on the 
streets he’d been lost again. And then maybe some 

more boys would have put a can on his tail ” 

Joe stopped in confusion. He had not meant to tell 
his Big Brother anything about his fight for the dog. 

“ Did some one tie a can to his tail, Joe ? ” asked Mr. 
Everington. 

Joe answered “Yes,” but volunteered nothing 
further. 

“ And how did you get him if there was a can on 
his tail ? Dogs usually run under such circumstances.” 

“They didn’t get it on,” said Joe. “I made ’em 
quit.” The little head was bowed again, for Joe 
knew the whole disgraceful story was coming out 
now. 

“ What did you do to make them stop, Joe ? ” 

“ I— I — had a fight,” said Joe. 

“ And took the dog away from them ? ” 


JOE FINDS A NEW BOAEDING PLACE 265 


“ I was goin’ to, but the cop come.” 

What did he do ? Arrest the boys with the can ? ” 

“He pinched ” — there was a long pause — “me.” 

“ What ! ” said Mr. Everington, sitting straight up in 
astonishment. “ You arrested again ! ” 

“Yes,” said a very faint voice, “and that’s what 
I’m here for.” 

“ You want me to get you out of trouble again, 
eh ? ” and the lawyer’s voice was very stern. 

“ No,” said Joe, his head still down. “ I ain’t in 
trouble. The cop let me go. I want you to forgive 
me.” And now the tears welled freely from the lad’s 
eyes, and the forlorn little face was raised appealingly. 
“ You said I would disgrace you if I got into trouble 
again.” 

“ Bless my heart ! ” ejaculated the lawyer, drawing 
his handkerchief and blowing his nose vigorously. 
“ Bless my heart ! ” And for a minute or two that 
was all he trusted himself to say. 

Joe misunderstood the silence. “Won’t you — 
please ? ” he sobbed. 

Mr. Everington reached out and drew the lad close 
to him. “ There is nothing to forgive, Joe,” he said, 
“ except perhaps your blow at the clerk. And he is 
the one you ought to ask to forgive that.” 

“ I did,” said Joe, “ and he wouldn’t.” 

“You did?” said Mr. Everington in surprise, for 


266 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


well he knew the fire of Joe’s temper. “ I’m glad you 
were sorry.” 

“ I wasn’t,” said Joe. “ I wish I’d knocked his head 
off.” 

“ Then why did you ask his forgiveness ? ” 

“ For you,” said Joe. “ I wanted him to take me 
back so I wouldn’t disgrace you.” 

After a time the lawyer said, “ What are you going 
to do for a boarding place now, Joe ? ” 

Joe laughed. Now that he was assured of his Big 
Brother’s pardon, he could feel light at heart once 
more. 

“ I don’t know,” said Joe, “ but there’s plenty of 
places to sleep.” 

“Well, I know what you are going to do, Joe,” re- 
joined the lawyer. “Your school begins to-morrow. 
You’ll be a full time pupil now, and you can’t earn 
enough by selling newspapers after school hours to 
pay for your board. Also it is quite evident that you 
can’t keep out of trouble on the streets. So you’ve got 
to get a new boarding-house and find some new job for 
your time after school that will support you.” 

Joe looked very grave. He began to think hard. 
After a little he peeped up at Mr. Everington. The 
latter was smiling broadly at him. 

“ Don’t puzzle your head about it any longer, Joe,” 
he said. “ I’ve made up my mind about the whole 


JOE FINDS A NEW BOAEDING PLACE 267 


matter. You are to live at the Working Boys’ Home 
and you are to work in my office after school hours. 
It mil cost you two dollars and a half a week for your 
board. I’m going to pay you two dollars a week wages 
and give you the money for your car-fares. That’s all 
you are worth. But I will advance you fifty cents a 
week extra and you can pay it back to me in like 
amounts when you get your working papers and find a 
job.” And then he added, “ If you are going to cham- 
pion the cause of every stray dog that comes along, it 
is high time I had you under my eye.” 

Joe grinned sheepishly. “I don’t care,” he said, 
“ they hadn’t oughta done it.” 

“ Your sentiments are all right, Joe,” said Mr. 
Everington, “but I can’t say as much for your lan- 
guage.” 

Again Joe grinned sheepishly. “ They had not 
ought to have done it,” he said slowly. “How’s 
that ? ” 

“ It is so bad, Joe,” replied Mr. Everington, “ that 
when I become your boss to-morrow afternoon, I’m 
going to see to it that you spend every minute when 
you are not doing office work studying grammar. 
And see here, Joe, I want you to understand that 
when you come here as office boy you come here to 
work. I’m not going to be your Big Brother in this 
office. I’m going to be your boss. And you’ve got to 


268 


ms BIG BBOTHEB 


earn every cent you get. Now remember ! No tricks, 
no noise, no dilly-dallying, and ” — with a smile — “ no 
yellow dogs.” 

Thus once more was a brotherly hand reached out 
in a moment of trouble to this sturdy son of liberty, 
and the stumbling little feet were again pointed up- 
ward. 


CHAPTER XXYI 


JOE CHOOSES HIS VOCATION 
HE weeks that followed were hard ones for Joe. 



A All day long he toiled at his books in the big 
schoolroom. He labored hard and diligently. He saw 
that this was the means to his end. And so busy was 
he with his studies that he actually kept out of mis- 
chief. That is, he did not get into any very serious 
mischief. Mr. Everington had seen to it that his new 
teacher — for J oe had advanced to a higher grade — was 
made acquainted with Joe’s history and the struggle 
he was making to reunite his family. And this 
teacher, older and wiser than the other, rigidly held 
Joe to his work, yet handled him so tactfully that he 
had only kind feelings for her. 

After school each day Joe reported for duty at his 
Big Brother’s office. Here he had, if anything, to be 
more quiet and orderly than in school. It was a great 
tax on the lad. Always brimming with life and spirits, 
ever eager for fun and mischief, and accustomed by 
months of irresponsible existence on the streets to go- 
ing his own sweet way, he found the new order of 
things almost more than he could endure. 


269 


270 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


After his long hours in the stuffy schoolroom he 
wanted to be out in the open air. He wanted to lim- 
ber up his legs that had been cramped under a desk all 
day. He wanted to fill his lungs with the fresh air 
from the river. He missed the excitement of the 
streets, the thrill of competition in the sale of his news- 
papers, the stir and tingle of the blood that comes from 
close association with the life of a great city. But 
none of these things was possible. He was as far re- 
moved from the life he had known — the old life that 
he now loved and longed for — as though he had been 
transported bodily to some distant land. He had sud- 
denly become, as it were, an anchorite in a busy world. 

To be sure, he spent but a short time each day — 
never more than three hours — in Mr. Everington’s 
ojBice ; but those hours came at the fag-end of the day, 
when both his brain and his nerves were tired by close 
application in school, and his body craved the freedom 
and the activity to which he had been accustomed. So 
for many weeks Joe found this new situation so irk- 
some that it seemed to him that he could not endure it. 
Indeed nothing but the great love he felt for his em- ‘ 
ployer would ever have kept him faithful during that 
first trying period. 

As for Mr. Everington, he was extremely desirous 
that Joe should like the new arrangement. He fore- 
saw that Joe would miss his old out-of-doors freedom, 


JOE CHOOSES HIS VOCATION 


271 


and gave his office manager orders to send Joe on er- 
rands as often as possible ; and often Mr. Everington 
devised an errand expressly to give Joe a taste of lib- 
erty. Under no circumstances was the office manager 
to act hastily with Joe or treat him harshly if he 
proved remiss. By this Mr. Everington did not intend 
that Joe was to be relieved from office discipline. In 
fact he meant to keep Joe under the strictest discipline, 
but that discipline he meant to oversee himself. He 
appreciated so thoroughly the tender sensitiveness of 
Joe’s nature that he would not trust the enforcement 
of discipline to another. Mr. Everington knew that 
he could say to Joe what nobody else in the world 
could say, unless it were Joe’s mother, without driving 
the little heart to desperate rebellion. Joe was like a 
restive colt. For his own good he needed to be broken 
to harness. Mr. Everington was determined that he 
should be broken thoroughly, but not by a strangling 
lariat about the windpipe. He was going to do it him- 
self with kindness. 

Joe had been office boy for his Big Brother perhaps 
four weeks before he felt the first touch of that kindly, 
firm hand in the breaking process. It was the middle 
of October. A cool spell had been followed by a 
glorious period of balmy autumn weather like Indian 
summer. The air came fresh and clear off the Bay. 
There was tonic in breeze and sunshine. There was 


272 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


joy in the blue sky above. There was happiness in 
mere existence. 

And Joe, faring forth on an errand, found himself 
presently near the Battery, where the sea breezes 
brought the color to his cheeks, and the swelling waves 
of the harbor seemed to beckon to him. He lost all 
sense of time and place, forgot his errand, and lingered 
on the great sea-wall in the complete oblivion of per- 
fect happiness. When, finally, he came to himself with 
a realization of what he had done, he found to his dis- 
may that the day was almost gone and the message he 
had been sent to deliver still rested in his pocket. He 
knew the message was important and his heart smote 
him. He sped to his destination and just managed to 
make delivery before that office closed. Then with 
heavy feet he dragged himself back to his Big 
Brother’s office. 

Joe found his employer all alone. The others had 
gone home. Mr. Everington called Joe into his own 
office, and sitting there almost in darkness, for Mr. 
Everington switched off all the lights save a dim lamp 
on his desk, Joe passed through one of those intense 
periods which burn themselves into the brain by the 
white heat of emotion. Mr. Everington spoke very 
slowly, almost guardedly. He was trying to crush 
down the fierce anger that burned in his heart. For 
Joe’s delinquency had set his business seriously awry. 


JOE CHOOSES HIS VOCATION 2V3 

In grave, low tones he told Joe exactly what harm his 
unfaithfulness had caused. 

“ It is seldom that any one of us has a chance to do 
great deeds, Joe,” said Mr. Everington, “ and so we 
come to despise the little ones and think them unim- 
portant. Joe, there couldn’t be any great deeds at all 
if it weren’t for the little ones they are built up on. 
Everything in this world that is worth while is made 
up of little things. Little things are like the bricks in 
a house. Compared to the finished structure a brick is 
a very tiny object. You might think you could leave 
out bricks here and there and do no harm. But if you 
did, your house would soon come tumbling down. 
That’s what you have done to my business to-day, Joe, 
by your carelessness. You have left out a brick. And 
I do not know now whether the entire wall is going 
to fall down or not. If it does, Joe, it will cost me 
some thousands of dollars.” 

Joe was aghast at the idea. His misery made him 
dumb. After a pause, Mr. Everington broke the silence 
— a silence that to Joe was even worse than his Big 
Brother’s accusing voice. 

“ You know what it means to little boys and girls 
when their father dies, Joe,” said Mr. Everington. 

Joe silently nodded his head. 

« I’m going to tell you a story about a man who 
didn’t do as he was told to do, and the effect his diso- 


274 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


bedienoe had on some little children. That man was 
General Charles Lee, one of Washington’s officers. 
Washington had starved the British out of Philadel- 
phia by his awful sacrifices at Valley Forge, and the 
British were fleeing across New Jersey when Washing- 
ton overtook them at Monmouth and had a splendid 
chance to capture the entire British army. If he had 
captured it, the war might have ended then, and no 
more men been killed. But General Lee retreated in- 
stead of attacking as he had been ordered to do, and 
Washington was lucky to escape a defeat. The British 
got away, the war went on, and hundreds of men were 
killed who would not have been killed if the war had 
ended after Monmouth. So hundreds of little boys 
and girls were made orphans, Joe, and a good many 
of them had just as hard a time to get a living as you 
have had — all because one man didn’t do as he was told 
to do. 

“ There are other boys I could have sent with that 
message, Joe, but I chose you because I had faith in 
your loyalty and obedience. What I want — what the 
world wants — is some one who can be trusted, some 
one who will see that the orders are carried out to the 
letter. Here is the kind of man that is needed. 
Listen ! ” And pulling from his desk a pamphlet, Mr. 
Everington read to Joe the story of the ‘‘ Message to 
Garcia.” 


JOE CHOOSES HIS VOCATION 


275 


It was a clever stroke. All the misery, the despair, 
the self-condemnation that had been torturing Joe’s 
little soul gradually resolved themselves, as the story 
proceeded, into a new form — determination. And that 
determination had as its inspiration the man who car- 
ried the message to Garcia. By the time the story 
was concluded, the new resolution was shining in Joe’s 
face. 

“ Won’t you give me another chance ? ” he begged. 

‘‘How can I trust you again, Joe?” asked Mr. 
Everington. 

“ Give me a chance and I’ll show you,” answered Joe. 

“ And if I do,” said Mr. Everington, “ will you do 
exactly what I tell you to do. ? Will you see that my 
orders are carried out, no matter what the obstacles 
are ? Will you be as faithful as the messenger to 
Garcia ? ” 

“ Yes, yes,” pleaded Joe, impulsively. “ Try me and 
see.” 

By this time the anger in the lawyer’s heart had 
burned itself out. Again a smile of affection came 
into his eyes, and he reached out his great hands for 
the little ones that were longing to grasp them. 

“ Very well, Joe,” he said. “ Henceforth you are 
my messenger to Garcia. My first order to you is that 
you come home with me to dinner to-night. After 
dinner we can finish that book we started last time.” 


276 


HIS BIG BEOTHEB 


So the two left the office together, but they were not 
the same two who had entered it some time before. 
Seared deep in Joe’s brain was the memory of this 
eventful day, and a resolve that permeated every nerve 
and fibre of his being. He had been through a fiery 
furnace, and come out, as it were, remoulded ; for on 
beings with Joe’s spiritual organization, such influences 
are persistent. As for Mr. Everington, his spiritual 
growth kept pace with Joe’s. He had been a factor 
in most of the crises of Joe’s life these two years past, 
and the influences that had uplifted Joe had broadened 
him. If he had directed Joe’s footsteps, his own had 
none the less surely been guided by Joe. It is written 
that a little child shall lead them. And Joe had led 
Meredith Everington away from the narrow emptiness 
of his old life. Long since the lawyer had learned to 
see something more in the world than a dollar and 
things that were more precious than rubies. 

Fortunately Joe’s forgetfulness did not prove to be 
as disastrous as Mr. Everington had feared it might, 
and in the end the matter was cleared up satisfactorily. 
When Mr. Everington found that no loss would follow 
Joe’s delinquency, he told the little fellow so, for Joe 
was obviously worried about the affair. That lifted a 
burden from Joe’s heart, but in no wise altered his 
improved behavior. Indeed it was almost pitiful to 
see how manfully he strove to repress his natural in- 


JOE CHOOSES HIS VOCATION 


277 


stincts toward mischievous play, and how faithful he 
was in carrying out every commission entrusted to him. 

His efforts to improve his speech and manners were 
almost laughable, so earnest were they. Mr. Evering- 
ton was as good as his word about the grammar, and 
Joe had daily to spend a few minutes becoming better 
acquainted with his native tongue. In this respect he 
got more from hearing others talk than from the 
perusal of his book. He had determined that he would 
learn to speak in a manner befitting “ nice folks ” — for 
Joe was becoming possessed of the idea that he was 
going to climb up in the world. 

Just as he observed and patterned after the speech of 
his betters, so he copied their manners. He learned to 
keep his finger nails clean, his hair well combed, his 
person neat and tidy. This was well, for he was just 
reaching that period in life when new impulses were 
springing up within him. He was approaching man- 
hood, and the habits that he acquired now would prob- 
ably prove lasting ones. 

As the cold weather came on, he was better content 
to remain in the office. Seeing this, Mr. Everington 
gave orders that Joe should not be sent out except 
when it was really necessary. To occupy Joe’s time 
when he was not busy with business matters, Mr. 
Everington brought to his office a few good books that 
he thought might interest Joe. These he put where 


278 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


Joe could have access to them. Among them he un- 
obtrusively stuck some very simple treatises on the law, 
for in his heart he hoped that Joe would desire to be- 
come a lawyer. Then the lad could continue on in his 
own office and his future would be assured. But the 
law books were the very ones Joe disliked — the only 
ones, in fact. He liked the biographies. He was in- 
terested in the histories. But the law books were as 
dreary to him as a collection of dry bones. 

So passed the winter, and so drew near the spring ; 
and with every passing day Mr. Everington became 
more anxious. He had come to love Joe dearly. The 
little lad was blossoming out so handsomely, growing 
so sturdily, becoming such a dependable helper, that 
Mr. Everington did not like the thought of having him 
pass from under his own protecting eye and go out once 
more to face life alone — especially at his age. From 
time to time J oe spent an evening at his Big Brother’s 
home. Sometimes he went to the theatre with the 
Everingtons. Whenever it was possible Mr. Evering- 
ton spent a Saturday at the country club, and Joe was 
his caddie. The lad needed these days in the open, for 
his confinement was fast taking the roses out of his 
cheeks. 

On these occasions Mr. Everington always paid Joe 
extra for his services ; and as his wages had been raised 
to three dollars a week, Joe soon squared up his indebt- 


JOE CHOOSES HIS VOCATION 


279 


edness to his Big Brother. Mr. Everington’s object in 
paying Joe so little at first was to make him understand 
that he must earn his own way. The increase to three 
dollars followed Joe’s hard efforts in the weeks after his 
delinquency with the message. In April Joe was given 
four dollars a week. And at each increase, Mr. Ever- 
ington gave him to understand that he had received the 
increase only because he had won it. If Joe found his 
confinement irksome, he also saw that his efforts were 
counting, and that slowly but surely he was forging 
ahead. This made him happy. 

A few days after Joe’s wages had been increased to 
four dollars Joe said to his employer, “ How long was 
it after you came to New York before you got four 
dollars a week ? ” 

Mr. Everington was silent a moment, then said. 
Two years and four months, as nearly as I can recall, 
Joe.” 

Joe’s face fell. “ I’ve been here two years and six 
months,” he said. Presently he smiled. “I ain’t so 
much behind you, am I ? ” he said. Then he asked, 
“ How much did you earn in ten years ? You said it 
was an awful lot.” 

Mr. Everington told him. 

Joe looked troubled. “I can’t never earn that 
much,” said he despondently. 

They were in Mr. Everington’s oflBce. An idea came 


280 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


to the lawyer. “ Sit down, Joe,’’ he said. When Joe 
had found a seat, he said, “ That is why I am so anxious 
to have you choose an occupation, Joe. This is an age 
of specialists, and only the man of special training can 
earn large rewards. I succeeded because I very early 
picked out my work and bent all my energies to get 
ready for it. I want you to choose your work as soon 
as you can, so that you can get ready. I have been 
hoping that you would like the law. Then I could help 
you, Joe. Besides, a successful lawyer earns more 
money than most other men.” 

Joe made a wry face. “ I don’t like law,” he said. 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ I tried to read some of your books. I don’t like ’em. 
There’s nothing but big words in ’em. What’s the use 
of the law, anyhow ? ” 

Joe,” said Mr. Everington, “ the law is the greatest 
thing in the world. It is the only thing that makes it 
possible for us to earn a living and keep what we earn 
after we get it. It protects the weak from the strong. 
Our government, our homes, are built on the law. The 
law protects us at every turn.” Mr. Everington was 
thoughtful for a moment. “ Joe,” he continued, ‘‘ 3^ou 
ride on the street-cars a great deal. Did you ever hap- 
pen to be on a car and have the conductor lock the door 
and refuse to let you out until you had paid him ten 
cents ? ” 


JOE CHOOSES HIS VOCATION 


281 


“ No,” said Joe. 

“ Why do you suppose the conductor never did 
that ? He’d like to get an extra nickel from you, 
wouldn’t he ? And he’s big enough to do it. Why 
didn’t he ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Joe. 

“I’ll tell you,” replied Mr. Everington. “It was 
because of the law. The law says the fare shall be 
five cents. If he had charged you ten cents, you could 
have had him arrested.” 

Joe was interested. 

“ TeU me this, Joe,” continued the lawyer. “Why 
was your mother able to go to the hospital and be 
treated when she was sick and had no money to pay a 
doctor ? ” 

“ You did that,” replied Joe. 

“ No, I didn’t. The law did it. The law says that 
any poor person is entitled to treatment. I merely got 
your mother a letter to the superintendent so he would 
be kind to her. And tell me this, Joe — what made 
Hawkins give your mother money each week after we 
found out about you ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Joe. “ I never could size it up.” 

“ Well, I’ll size it up for you. It was the law. 
Judge Wilmot sent his probation officer to interview 
Hawkins and threatened to have him arrested if he 
didn’t provide for his family.” 


282 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


Joe’s eyes opened wide. 

‘‘ And who was it saved your sister Helen and made 
Hawkins stop abusing your mother on the street ? ” 

“ The cops,” answered Joe. 

“ And what makes the cops ? The law. The law 
says there shall be policemen to protect people.” 

“ Sometimes they pinch the wrong fellow,” inter- 
posed J oe. 

“Just as you sometimes make mistakes, Joe. But 
the law provides for courts and judges to see that no 
wrong is done in the end, and the law provides for 
lawyers to protect the rights of persons who may be 
falsely arrested.” 

“ Is that what the law is ? ” inquired Joe, in deep 
astonishment. “ I thought lawyers tried to put people 
into jail so they could get money out of ’em.” 

“ Perhaps some of them do, Joe. There are dishonest 
lawyers just as there are dishonest merchants and dis- 
honest newsies. But to be an honest lawyer, Joe, and 
look out for people’s rights, and keep people from 
being harmed, is one of the finest things a man can do.” 

Joe was deeply impressed. He went around all day 
with a thoughtful face. At closing time he came to 
Mr. Everington with one of the law books he had con- 
demned. 

“ Do you think I could learn all the words in it ? ” 
he asked. 


JOE CHOOSES HIS VOCATION 


283 


Mr. Everington laughed. “ When you were a baby, 
Joe,” he said, “ you didn’t know a single word, did 
you ? See how many you know now. And you are 
only a little boy. By the time you are twenty-one 
you can know all the words in that book and as many 
more, if you want to.” 

“ Then I’m going to be a lawyer,” said Joe. And 
so was settled the destiny of the little fugitive from 
the coal barge. 


CHAPTER XXYII 


A BREATHING SPELL IN THE COUNTRY 

B y this time spring was at hand, and Joe’s days in 
school were numbered. He had become keenly 
interested in his studies, and no longer was eager for 
the day of his deliverance from the schoolroom. On 
the contrary, he did not want to leave school. He had 
gotten along so well, he had made so many friendships 
among the boys in his class, he had become so fond of 
his teacher, that the thought of dropping out gave him 
a little wrench at the heart. If he could but finish out 
the year, he would be in much better position to con- 
tinue his schooling, should opportunity for further 
study offer, or to take up new work in a night school. 
For though the law allowed Joe to go to work at 
fourteen, it compelled him to continue his schooling in 
the evenings. Some of these feelings Joe communicated 
to Mr. Everington. To have Joe continue in school 
was what Mr. Everington greatly desired ; but Joe had 
ever been so eager to go to work that Mr. Everington 
had not suggested it. He was much gratified when 
Joe now told him how he felt. So it was arranged 
that Joe should continue at school until the term 
284 


A BEEATHING SPELL IN THE COUNTEY 286 


ended. Meantime he, of course, continued as office boy 
for his Big Brother after school hours. 

As the days passed and the warm weather came on, 
the effect of confinement became more and more notice- 
able in Joe. His cheeks became steadily whiter, and 
though he grew fast he lacked that rugged appearance 
that had characterized him in the old days on the 
streets. He appeared frail. He seldom had the oppor- 
tunity these days to run errands, for he was making 
himself very valuable about the office. 

He had a way with him that visitors liked, and so he 
more and more was trusted to meet those entering the 
office and inquire as to their business. He had formed 
the habit of seeing that things were kept in their places. 
No one had ever suggested this to him, but he had 
begun the practice after seeing how greatly annoyed 
Mr. Everington was on a certain occasion when one of 
his directories was mislaid. Then and there the ob- 
servant Joe saw an opportunity to be of service. He 
made mentally an inventory of all the office equipment, 
found where each book or other article belonged, and 
thereafter saw to it that each was in its place. If a 
stenographer used a directory and carelessly laid it on 
a chair instead of returning it to its case, Joe quietly 
picked up the book and put it in place. In like manner 
he saw to it that ink-wells were filled, pens renewed, 
pencils sharpened, blotters supplied, and stationery 


286 


HIS BIG BEOTHEB 


kept up in the desks. He saw to it that letters were 
promptly mailed. Likewise he tried to learn all he 
could about the business. At first this was little enough, 
but he soon discovered the names of people and firms 
with whom Mr. Everington regularly did business, and 
learned their addresses. He had an unfailing memory 
for faces, and he learned to remember names accurately. 

All these traits made him increasingly valuable. He 
never forgot the talk his Big Brother had given him 
after his delinquency with the message; and under- 
standing that great things were not for him, he strove 
to be faithful in little ones. Throughout all his work, 
and in all that he did, there was coming more and more 
into evidence the spirit of the man who carried the 
message to Garcia. 

Early in May word came from the hospital that 
Henry was so greatly improved that he could be dis- 
charged at any time. The superintendent also said 
that if Henry could be sent to the country, where he 
could have good milk and eggs and fresh vegetables to 
eat, and where he could play out-of-doors in the sun- 
shine, it would do wonders for him in the way of mak- 
ing his frail little body sturdy. This was good news, 
but it gave Mr. Everington some anxiety at first, for it 
meant that he would have to look after Henry’s wel- 
fare as well as Joe’s. Henry must both be kept out of 
mischief and be placed in an environment that would 


A BEEATHING SPELL IN THE COUNTEY 287 


help him. To accomplish the first object he would 
have to be employed at something, and that something 
should support him — for Mr. Everington held firmly to 
the idea that every human being who was able to do 
so ought to earn his own living. And deformed feet 
were in no wise a bar to the accomplishment of this 
end. The great difficulty was that Henry was un- 
trained in any occupation save that of selling papers, 
and Mr. Everington did not intend to let him drift back 
again to the harmful influence of the streets. So he 
pondered in perplexity over Henry’s situation. 

After all it is an ill wind that brings no good. Mr. 
Everington shortly found that it would be necessary 
for him and his wife to spend the summer months far 
from New York. Ordinarily he went to his summer 
place on Long Island Sound, whence he could come to 
business. Now he was going to the far West for the 
entire summer. This fact, and the need of both Henry 
and Joe for a season in the open, decided his course at 
once. He would send the two lads to his farm in cen- 
tral New York. There they would be out of harm’s 
way, and the fresh air and sunshine would bring 
strength to Henry and put the roses back in Joe’s 
cheeks. When he had fully matured his plan, Mr. 
Everington called Joe into his office. 

“Joe,” he said, “I am going away soon for three 
months.” 


288 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


The little face before him became grave and doleful. 
“ Won’t I see you while you’re gone ? ” asked Joe. 

Mr. Everington laughed, but in his heart he was well 
pleased. It was quite evident that Joe would miss 
him. 

“ No,” he said. “ I am going far away. But I 
think you will not feel lonely. You are going away, 
too.” 

“ With you ? ” asked Joe eagerly. 

“No, Joe. With your brother. The hospital super- 
intendent writes me that Henry may leave at any time, 
but that he needs to be out in the open. You need to 
be there yourself, Joe. You are as pale as a ghost. 
So while I am in the West, for that’s where I am go- 
ing, you and Henry are to be at my farm up state.” 

Joe’s eyes began to dance. Often had Mr. Evering- 
ton told him of this farm, with its pleasant, shaded 
house, its cool stretches of woodland with a brook bab- 
bling among the trees, and the swift-flowing river in 
the distance, backed by towering hills. He had always 
wanted to visit it, for he was sure that it must be like 
Alabama. Now he could hardly contain himself for 

joy. 

“ Do you mean it ? ” he cried, but the question was 
purely a rhetorical one. “ And how long are we going 
to be there ? ” 

“ Three months,” said Mr. Everington. 


A BEEATHING SPELL IN THE COUNTEY 289 

“ Gee whiz ! Three months ! ” cried Joe, and for- 
getting time and place, this erstwhile model otRce boy 
gave voice to a whoop that startled the entire office. 

“ Yes, three months,” said Mr. Everington, “ but you 
needn’t think it is going to be a picnic. You’ve got to 
earn your keep. And you’ve got to pay Henry’s way, 
too.” 

The little face became serious at once. 

“ It isn’t as bad as it sounds, Joe,” said the lawyer, a 
trifle repentant for having dashed the lad’s high hopes. 
“ This is what I mean. You and Henry must help the 
farmer. . He has no boys of his own. You can do lots 
of chores, drive the cows, perhaps tend to the chickens, 
and save him so much time that he may be able to get 
along with one less hand than he usually employs for 
the busy season. If you do that, you will more than 
pay for your board.” 

“ And can I drive the horses ? ” inquired Joe. 

“ I don’t know, Joe. The farmer will have to settle 
that. It will depend upon whether you can be trusted 
with them.” 

The little mouth before him tightened grimly, and 
Mr. Everington smiled with satisfaction as he noticed 
it. He went on, “ But I do not mean that you shall be 
without money, Joe. I’m going to pay your wages all 
the time you are on the farm. But don’t think I’m giv- 
ing you the money. You’ve earned it, Joe. You are 


290 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


really worth five dollars a week to me, but I wanted to 
be certain of that fact before I advanced you. Now I’ll 
tell you a secret. I bad intended to raise you to five 
dollars on the first of June, but inasmuch as you are 
going to the country, you won’t get the five dollars 
until you come back in the fall. I hope it won’t ” 

“ How long did it take you to earn five dollars ? ” 
broke in Joe. 

“ I can’t tell you now,” said the lawyer, “ and any- 
way it doesn’t matter. What I was going to say was 
that I hope you will soon be so valuable that I shall 
have to pay you six dollars. But remember one thing, 
Joe. You don’t get a cent more until you earn it.” 

“ When are we to go to the country ? ” asked J oe, 
eagerly. 

“ Just as soon as your school closes.” 

“ And how long can we stay ? ” 

“ Three months — just as long as I am away.” 

Joe was silent a little while. Then he said softly, 
“ Mr. Everington, could Helen come up to the farm ? ” 

“ I have thought of that, too, Joe. I’ll see.” 

He turned to his telephone and called up his friend 
at the great cloak factory. 

“ Helen is to have two weeks’ vacation in July, with 
full pay,” said Mr. Everington as he swung around in his 
chair to face Joe again. “ She shall spend the two 
weeks with you and Henry.” 


A BREATHING SPELL IN THE COUNTRY 291 

Again Joe was silent. Then he burst out, “ Are 
there violets there ? And daisies ? And holly-trees ? ” 

“ I’ll let you find out for yourself, Joe,” rejoined the 
lawyer. “The farm is in Otsego County. Suppose 
you get some maps and books, and read about the place 
you are going to ? You will enjoy your visit more if 
you know something about the region.” 

Joe sprang up from his chair. “ I will,” he said, 
starting for the door. But just as he was reaching for 
the door-knob he turned back. “ Mr. Everington,” he 
said, “ how long did it take you to earn five dollars ? ” 

In a very few days school was ended, Mr. Evering- 
ton and his wife bade Joe good-bye at the great rail- 
way station, and a day later Joe and Henry were on 
their way to Otsego County, whither a letter had pre- 
ceded them to make smooth their path. Mr. Evering- 
ton had no intention that Joe and his brother should 
become farm drudges, and he made no mention in his 
letter to his farmer of the fact that Joe was supposed to 
earn his keep by doing chores. Mr. Everington felt 
certain that Joe would be as helpful as he could, and he 
knew this would insure the good-will of the farmer. 
Nor was he mistaken. 

Farmer Peebles had received Mr. Everington’s letter 
with little relish. Busy as only a farmer can be during 
the summer season, he did not welcome the idea of a 
visit from two city children, who, he felt certain, would 


292 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


be full of mischief and constantly in the way. His 
greeting at the station had been blunt enough. But 
even before the farmhouse was reached, Mr. Peebles 
found himself relenting. There was something about 
Joe that always made people like him — he was so fresh 
and whole-souled, and wisely foolish, as only a city 
street urchin can be. And he speedily won the heart 
of both Farmer Peebles and his wife. As for Henry, 
every one felt for him the pity that is the due of a 
cripple. Mr. Peebles speedily concluded that “they 
wouldn’t be so bad after all.” But when Joe took 
upon himself the task of keeping the wood-box filled, of 
feeding the hens and gathering the eggs, of fetching the 
vegetables from the garden for dinner, and a score of 
other little tasks that took time, Mr. Peebles was 
pleased beyond expression. 

“ That boy ain’t no city kid,” was his comment, 
“ even if he does come from New York. He’s too 
dang smart.” 

But though Joe literally tried to carry out his Big 
Brother’s wish in the way of being useful, his tasks 
took relatively little of his time, and he and Henry 
played for hours at a stretch on the shady grass plot in 
front of the house, whence could be seen the gently 
sloping valley and the swelling river. Together the 
lads made long excursions to the woods, where they 
found the violets Joe had inquired about, and many an- 


A BREATHING SPELL IN THE COUNTRY 293 


other woodland blossom that filled them with delight. 
All over the farm they wandered. They went through 
the barns and the mows, they made friends with the 
horses and cattle, and they scratched the grunting pigs 
with corn-cobs. In next to no time they knew every 
nook and corner of the place and every living creature 
on it, even to the catbirds and thrushes nesting in 
the thickets by the river, and the little phoebe that 
was raising a family under the eaves of the pig-pen. 
And speedily strength came to Henry’s weak limbs, 
and Joe began to fill out and his cheeks to redden. 
Never were two children happier. Joe wanted his Big 
Brother to know about it. He had been at the farm 
only a few days when he wrote to Mr. Everington, who 
was now at the other edge of the continent. 

“ Gee whiz ! but it is nice here,” he wrote. “ The 
days are fine and the sunshine is out every day. We 
was in the woods yesterday and we scared up two 
scunks. To-day I hung up a pair of stockings to get 
dry that I got wet in the woods and I forgot all about 
them and they burned up and I had to put on a new 
pair. Saturday we went in swimming and the water 
was freezing cold. Have you had a swim yet this 
year ? We have planted lots of things. 

“You said I could drive the horses if Mr. Peebles 
would let me. I am sure they won’t run away with 
me. We are good friends. Henry and me play hide- 


294 


HIS BIG BEOTHER 


and-seek in the barn and once I hid under Tom’s 
stomach. Tom is a horse. I am sure he would let me 
drive him. Mr. Peebles says he is cross but I don’t 
believe it. 

“ I had a letter from Helen. She says she is anx- 
ious to get up here. I wrote and told her all about 
the scunks we saw and the fine swimming and she 
wants to come. There is a feeby hatching some little 
ones under the roof of the pig-pen. She sent us a 
checker-board and some checkers. 

“ I brought along the grammar you gave me. You 
didn’t ask me to but I knew you would like to have 
me. Well, I haven’t touched it. I guess I am getting 
lazy. But I think it does anybody good to be once in 
a while for when you wake up you go like sixty. But 
my laziness don’t last long. I get to dreaming. Some- 
times my mind wanders and I can’t help it. But I 
think I am improving in spelling and writing, don’t 
you? 

“We get milk to drink here three times a day. I 
like it. It don’t look like the milk we get at the 
boarding-house. It is yellow. I guess they must have 
a different kind of cows from the kind the city milk- 
man has.” 

In due time Joe received a letter from the Pacific 
coast, or rather letters, for Mrs. Everington had written 
a note to go with her husband’s. They both said they 


A BEEATHING SPELL IN THE COUNTEY 295 


had enjoyed Joe’s letter. They would have been 
strange mortals if they had not. And they hoped 
Joe would write to them often. 

The woods and the river were altogether too in- 
sistent in their call to allow Joe to become an active 
correspondent, but he occasionally had a letter writing 
spell, and then he would send notes to his mother and 
his Big Brother, and sometimes to persons in Mr. 
Everington’s office. Late in the summer he wrote 
this letter to Mr. Everington. Mr. Everington had 
just sent him two baseball gloves. 

“ I do not know how to put my words into thanks. 
But my stars they are certainly fine. I bet I can catch 
a fly with my eyes shut. The boys in the village near 
here are getting up a nine. Maybe I can get a place 
on it now. I am the only boy who has two gloves. 
How did you know I wanted a glove ? 

“ You said my pay was to go on, but I didn’t get 
none since I came up here. I need some money. I 
need some new shoes. I was climbing a tree and got 
my foot caught in a crotch and the sole came off. And 
I want to buy a picolo. The boys in the village are 
getting up a band and they want me to join. I am 
learning notes now. I like it better than grammar. 
When I come back to New York maybe I can play , 
for you. And I am all out of envelopes and writing 
paper. 


296 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


“ I have my ideas about the Christian religion. Last 
week we played a game of ball with another team. 
We got to playing and you ought to have heard them 
swear. I never thought New York boys were any- 
where near as bad as this. 

“ Helen came up Tuesday. She has got fat. She 
says she likes it very much, but I can’t get her to do 
anything. She won’t climb trees or hunt scunks or go 
for bullfrogs but just lays in the hammok and reads 
a book. She says it is so restful. I get enough rest 
at night. But she likes it very much. Ain’t girls 
funny ? 

“ You wouldn’t know me if you saw me. Mr. 
Peebles says I am an inch taller and I weigh eleven 
pounds more than when I came. I think it is the 
milk. We have all we can drink. And Mrs. Peebles 
makes such good fritters and ginger cakes. I never 
eat any fritters so good. Last night I had fourteen 
for supper, and she said she was afraid I would bust 
but I could eat more if she had had them. My clothes 
are getting tight. 

“ I like it here very much, but I do not think I 
would like to be a farmer. You don’t see enough 
people. When I lived on the Mattie Ford I used to 
want to get back to the country and now I am in the 
country I shall be glad to get back to the city. I 
think it is because I don’t have enough to do here. 


A BEEATHING SPELL IN THE COUNTRY 297 


There ain’t much to do but play though I do all they 
will let me and I am getting too big to play all the 
time. I guess my views have broadened out since I’ve 
been here. I have been thinking about what you told 
me about lawyers and I think that is the finest thing 
in the world to help other people just as you helped 
me. You needn’t worry about my becoming a farmer. 
In this world of sorrow and hardship we need some- 
body to do good. Lawyers can do more than most 
anybody else. I am glad I am going to be a lawyer. 
But I wish there wasn’t so many big words to learn. 

“ I want to get back to work and earn that five 
dollars. If I had not come up here I should have 
earned five dollars sooner than you did. But now I 
cannot get it until September. Maybe I can catch 
up to you on six dollars. How soon did you earn six 
dollars ? 

“ Henry is doing fine. His feet are getting strong. 
Helen went home when her two weeks was up. She 
says she liked it better than any place she ever was. 
I think it did her good. Mrs. Peebles cried when she 
went home. I thought she liked Helen. She was 
kinder to her than she is to Henry and me. And she 
lets us eat between meals. 

“ When am I to go home ? I think Henry would 
like to stay here. He loves the horses and pigs and 
they like him. 


298 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


“ How is Mrs. Everington ? I would like to see her. 
Give her my love. I hope you are well. I have noth- 
ing more to say. ' 

‘‘ Your affectionate Little Brother, 

“ Joe Waineight.” 


CHAPTEE XXYIII 


A DREAM COME TRUE 

B EFOEE this letter reached California, the Ever- 
ingtons had started for New York, so that Joe’s 
communication went across the continent and back 
again before it reached Mr. Everington. Meantime 
much had occurred that was of moment to Joe. 
Among his letters Mr. Everington found one from the 
Otisville hospital authorities. They wrote that Mrs. 
Hawkins was so far recovered as to be able to leave 
the hospital; and that although continued treatment 
there would doubtless add to her strength, yet, with 
returning health, she had begun to fret and worry so 
over her absence from her children that she probably 
would be better off if she were to rejoin them, even if 
the surroundings were not so favorable as at the sani- 
tarium. Another note came to Mr. Everington — this 
one from Judge Wilmot — carrying the information 
that Hawkins had fallen overboard while drunk and 
had been swept under a pier and drowned before any 
one could get to him. 

Busy as he was with accumulated work, the lawyer 
decided that he would settle Joe’s affairs the first thing. 
299 


300 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


That done he could give his mind to his work without 
distraction. So he ran up to the Children’s Court to 
see the Judge. 

“ I’m delighted to see you back,” said His Honor. 
“ Doubtless you got my note. I wasn’t sure that you 
had returned, but I sent the note anyway.” 

“Just arrived yesterday,” said Mr. Everington. 
“ I’ve got no end of work on my desk, but I want to 
get this matter off my mind before I tackle it. Tell 
me about Hawkins.” 

The Judge told him briefly how the barge captain 
had lost his life. 

“ Poor fellow ! I always felt sorry for him,” said 
Mr. Everington. “ If he could have let alcohol alone 
he’d have been a good man. But he’s gone now. Our 
concern is with his family. There is this about his 
death — it makes it possible for the family to have a 
home again. The mother is now well enough to leave 
the hospital and is anxious to be with her children. 
This is what Joe has been dreaming about ever since 
he ran away from the coal barge, but I was always 
afraid that if the family established a home Hawkins 
would break into it. You never can tell what these 
drunken brutes will do. It seems to me that the best 
thing that can be done now is to reunite the family. 
What is your opinion ? That’s what I came to talk 
about.” 


A DEEAM COME TEUE 


301 


“ By all means,” replied the Judge. “ Where there 
is a good mother that is the best place for the children. 
And if the children love their mother, there is little 
danger of their going wrong. That is our experience 
here. And one of our greatest problems is to find 
ways to keep the home intact. But can these children 
support a home yet ? ” 

“ I bumped into Mr. Dean, head of the cloak firm 
that employs Helen, when I was going to luncheon 
this noon, and I asked how the girl was getting along. 
She is doing excellently. You know they put her in 
the designing department, and Mr. Dean told me that 
she has shown so much talent that they are training 
her to be one of their regular designers. That will pay 
her well, but, of course, it will be a long time before 
she is ready. Just now she gets eight dollars a week 
and on the first of January she is to be advanced to 
ten dollars. She doesn’t know that, of course, and I 
shall not tell her. Joe’s been on my farm all summer 
but he will be home soon, for I am going to send for 
him to-day. He will get five dollars a week, and if he 
continues as he has been doing I shall soon give him 
six dollars.” 

“ So you are satisfied with him, eh ? ” inquired the 
Judge with a quiet smile. 

‘‘ Satisfied ! Why, Judge, he’s the greatest little 
youngster ever you saw. Keally I shouldn’t know 


302 


HIS BIG BROTHEE 


what to do without him. I never had an office boy 
that could compare with him — he keeps everything so 
orderly and clean. And he’s absolutely reliable. It 
doesn’t matter what you tell him to do, he does it, and 
does it right. You know. Judge, I’ve long been look- 
ing for a partner who can relieve me of part of my 
work. But I’m particular. If Joe becomes the sort 
of man he promises to be — but that’s a long way 
ahead.” 

“He reflects credit upon his teacher,” commented 
the Judge. 

“ The credit belongs to Joe, not to me,” rejoined Mr. 
Everington. “ It’s mighty little I have done for him— 
got him out of trouble once or twice and given him a 
few lectures, and that’s about all. Why, Judge, I 
don’t suppose the time I have given to that boy would 
average an hour a day. I never cease to wonder at 
the change in him. But it wouldn’t have been pos- 
sible with any other boy, I am sure. Joe is so un- 
usual.” 

“ What would you say, Mr. Everington, if I were to 
tell you that nine out of ten boys who come in here 
are like that — all they need is a friendly hand to guide 
them and they will make good men.” 

“ I cannot believe it.” 

“ Well, it’s true, Mr. Everington. If all the good 
men in this town would do as you have done, we 


A DEEAM COME TEUE 


303 


should have to close our prisons and reformatories for 
lack of inmates.” 

“ And you can’t get men to help you ? That’s a 
shame ! Why, I never did anything that gave me so 

much pleasure as helping Joe ” He stopped 

abruptly, for the Judge was laughing outright. In a 
moment Mr. Everington joined in the laughter. “ Do 
you know. Judge,” he said, I had almost forgotten 
my reluctance to become a Big Brother. You told me 
I would some day be glad if I helped this youngster. 
Let me say it now. It’s been one of the best things I 
ever did. I can’t begin to tell you what it has meant 
to me.” 

The Judge was wise. He smiled and said merely, 

I’m very glad.” 

Mr. Everington rose to go. “ I’m glad you approve 
of the plan to bring the family together. Good-bye.” 

He went back to his office and wrote a letter to 
Mrs. Hawkins, telling her to come to Hew York at 
once and enclosing her car-fare. He wrote a second 
letter to Mrs. Kaplan, the good-hearted woman with 
whom Helen boarded, asking her to take care of Mrs. 
Hawkins when the latter arrived. A third letter he 
sent to Joe, instructing him to come to Hew York in a 
week and bring Henry with him. Then he buckled 
down to the pile of letters and documents on the desk 
before him. 


304 


HIS BIG BEOTHEB 


Before the week was ended, Joe’s letter came back 
from the West, and Mr. Everington laughed uproari- 
ously as he read it and ended by wiping his eyes. 
Then came Joe himself, slipping in unannounced one 
morning and standing before his Big Brother’s desk 
smiling. He had been a true prophet. Mr. Everington 
had to look twice at the lad before he recognized him. 
He was appreciably taller, many pounds heavier, stout 
and strong in appearance, and brown as an Indian. 
Henry had improved equally in looks. He was with Joe. 
Mr. Everington pushed his work aside and listened for 
a few minutes to the torrents of joyful reminiscences 
that Joe in vain tried to repress. 

Presently Mr. Everington said, “ I suppose you’ll be 
ready for work again soon, Joe?” 

“I’m ready this minute,” said Joe. “What can I 
do?” 

“Take this message to Mrs. Kaplan,” said the 
lawyer, “and let Henry go along with you.” 

He hastily scrawled a note and sealed it in an 
envelope. His eyes were twinkling, but he said very 
soberly, “Don’t delay with this message. It’s im- 
portant. If you don’t hurry you’ll be as sorry as once 
before you were when you dilly-dallied.” As Joe and 
Henry left the room, Mr. Everington called after them, 
“ You needn’t be in any hurry about coming back.” 

They made haste to Mrs. Kaplan’s house. 


A BBEAM COME TEtJE 


305 


“ Mr. Everington says that you want to see my new 
boarder,” said Mrs. Kaplan smiling. “ Come with me.” 

J oe and Henry looked at each other in astonishment. 
But they followed their guide up a flight of stairs to a 
room at the front of the house. Mrs. Kaplan knocked. 

“ Come in,” said a voice. 

“ That’s mother,” cried Joe. And in an instant the 
two lads were in their mother’s arms. 

When Joe got back Mr. Everington called him into 
his private ofiice. “ Joe,” he said, “ your dream has 
come true. Your mother is well again. Henry is 
strong now. And you are all able to work and have a 
home. I don’t want Henry to go on the streets again. 
I have thought it all out, and this is my plan. You 
must find a little flat somewhere big enough for you 
all to live in, and for Henry to have a shop in. He 
can sell papers and stationery there. You must find a 
place well located for his trade and convenient to the 
street-cars so that you and Helen can get to work 
easily. You take a day or two off and find a place. 
And by the way, while you are at it, find me another 
office boy. Jimmy is going to leave and I want some 
one to take his place. You know the kind of boy I 
want. See if you can find him.” 

“ I’ve got him now,” said Joe. 

Mr. Everington looked interested. “ What’s his 
name ? ” he asked. 


306 


HIS BIG BROTHER 


“Joe Wainright,” said Joe, laughing. 

“ I don’t understand,” said Mr. Everington. 

“ I mean I want the job,” said Joe. 

“ But you have a job already.” 

“ Well, I want this one, too.” 

“ You can’t do two jobs, Joe.” 

“ Try me and see. That Jimmy never did any 
work.” 

“ I think you had better get another boy, Joe.” 

“ Please let me try it — just for a week,” begged Joe. 

“Very well, for a week then. And if you don’t 
make good, you quit at the end of the week.” 

“ And if I do make good ? ” demanded J oe. 

“ Then the job is yours — as long as you continue to 
make good.” 

“ And how much do I get ? ” was Joe’s next question. 

“ If you do the work satisfactorily I’ll give you eight 
dollars a week, Joe. I’ll save money by the arrange- 
ment and you will earn more than any boy of fourteen 
I ever heard of.” 

“ More than you did at fourteen ? ” demanded Joe 
breathlessly. 

“ Yes, more than I did.” 

Joe could not restrain himself. He began to dance 
about and started away singing “ Eight dollars a week, 
eight dollars a week.” 

“ You haven’t got that eight dollars yet,” Mr. Ever- 


A DEEAM COME TRUE 


307 


ington called after him. “ You’ve got to show me 
before you get it.” 

Joe turned back, his countenance sober in an instant. 
All the intensity of his little soul burned in his face. 
“ I’ll earn that eight dollars or — or — bust,” he said. 
Then he went out. 

That evening Joe, Henry, Helen, and their mother 
were together for the first time in many months — a 
happy little group. There were reminiscences, pleas- 
ant and unpleasant, but all enjoyable in the telling. 
After the unhappy past had been examined and put 
upon the shelf, as it were, the group turned toward the 
future that promised so much of happiness. Long into 
the night they continued their animated discussion as 
to where the new home should be and what they would 
have in it. An eavesdropper might have thought the 
little family had sixty dollars a week at their disposal 
instead of sixteen — for Helen’s eight dollars and the 
eight that Joe expected to earn were all that they 
could depend upon, Henry’s earnings from his shop 
existing as yet only in his imagination. Finally they 
decided upon the general locality in which to try to 
find a home. As Helen was at work all day and Mrs. 
Hawkins not strong enough for house hunting, the task 
of finding the place fell to Joe and Henry. They were 
to make search the next day and report at evening. 

During the day Joe visited the o13Bce. Mr. Evering- 


308 


HIS BIG BEOTHEE 


ton told him of Hawkins’ death. When Joe broke the 
news at the family council that night, Mrs. Hawkins, 
after the manner of women, cried a little. Joe tried 
to comfort her. 

“ Don’t cry, mother,” he said. “ I’m glad he’s gone. 
He can’t never hurt you again.” 

“ I was not thinking of myself, Joe,” said Mrs. 
Hawkins, “ but of how unhappy you have all been.” 

“ That’s all over now,” said Joe. “ We’re never 
going to be unhappy any more.” 

“ Very well, Joe,” said his mother. ‘‘ We’ll not 
think about it again. Did you find a fiat ? ” 

Joe told them of his search. There was one place 
that would answer very well. It cost two dollars a 
month more than they wanted to pay, but they de- 
cided to take it anyway. It was a fine location for a 
news stand and perhaps Henry could earn enough to 
make the extra expenditure worth while. 

When Joe took his mother to see the place, she could 
not keep the tears back. Humble as the little fiat was, 
it was to be a home, a real home. It seemed too good 
to be true. Characteristically she expressed her feel- 
ings by tears. Joe misunderstood her. He looked dis- 
appointed. 

“ Don’t cry, mother,” he urged. “ I know it ain’t 
very nice, but some day we’re going to live in a white 
house with big pillars in front and have lots of grass 


A DEEAM COME TEUE 


309 


and flowers in a big yard. Don’t cry, mother. I’m 
telling you the truth. Mr. Everington says so. He 
was poor, too, when he started — and I’m already ahead 
of him. We won’t stay here long, mother — only until 
I earn more money. And anyway it’s better than a 
coal barge.” 

“ Hush, Joe,” said his mother. “ You’ll break my 
heart.” 



i 


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By Grace Blanchard 

Phillida's Glad Year 

As the librarian of one of our largest libraries, Miss Grace Blanch- 
ard knows what girls like and in this new volume readers will 
find some of the faces with which they were familiar in " Phil’s 
Happy Girlhood.” It is full of interest from beginning to end and 
will appeal to every girl. 340 pages 


By Marion Ames Taggart 

Beth's Old Home 

This is the aftermath of “ Beth’s Wonder-Winter ” and tells of her 
return to her old home. It is a separate story and yet, after read- 
ing it one will be anxious to know of the incidents and pleasures of 
“ Beth’s Wonder-Winter” in New York. 350 pages 

Fully Illustrated, Price $1,25 net 



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